


Every Lifetime

by feelsofine



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst and Romance, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kageyama Tobio-centric, M/M, Magical Realism, Oikawa doesn't show up for a while but there's a good reason, POV Outsider, Romance not the main focus, Time Travel, a love story from the eyes of a third party
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 35,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25292869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feelsofine/pseuds/feelsofine
Summary: In the span of a year, Kageyama Tobio plays a lot of volleyball, struggles to figure out what to do with his growing crush on his orange haired teammate, pieces together a tragic love story from the past, becomes entangled with immortal beings, and learns that second chances may just be possible after all.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A quick disclaimer that this first chapter is extremely exposition heavy, but things will pick up in the next chapter. Sorry if it's boring :')
> 
> Although I tagged Iwaizumi and Oikawa as the main pair, I'd like to say that romance is NOT the central focus of this story even if it's a big part of it. That's also why I didn’t tag minor relationships because I didn't want to clutter up any tags. This story will be almost exclusively from second year Kageyama's point of view.
> 
> Some of the characters are aged up about thirty years, but for the most part, unless stated otherwise, most of the players are still in high school and roughly follow the Haikyuu canon. It might seem confusing at first, but I promise/hope it will make more sense later :')
> 
> On another note, I'd also like to add that writing from Kageyama's point of view was a lot harder than I expected, so I apologize if he seems horribly out of character. I would like to add another disclaimer that some parts of the story are completely different from canon (most noticeably Kageyama and Hinata's backstories), so just chalk up any personality differences to that ahahaha

**Tokyo, unspecified date**

“Shit, I’m late!” A boy curses as he hastily shoves his arms through his backpack straps and dashes through the empty corridors of his school. “Shit, shit, shit! I knew I shouldn’t have depended on one of those idiots to wake me up, but I did anyway. _Shit!_ ”

As he sprints across the courtyard at a speed he didn’t even know his frail body possessed, all he could think of was just how late he was, how his mother would absolutely murder him for coming home at such an hour without telling her, how his brothers would eat all the food and leave him with scraps, how he still had a mountain of homework, how he had to be up early the next morning for practice, how—

“ _Watch where you’re going!”_

The boy’s feet scrabble to a halt as he nearly faceplants and eats concrete. Startled, his gaze jumps all over the courtyard he’d thought was deserted, desperately trying to find the source of the voice that saved his life.

“Um, hello?” He calls out nervously, clutching his backpack straps so tightly his knuckles whiten. “Is anyone there? Um, please don’t tell me you’re a murderer?”

No response. Deeming himself thoroughly spooked and ready to go home, the boy straightens up and is about to break into a run again when something in the corner of his eye catches his attention.

A shrine.

The boy blinks. _Since when was that here?_ He furrows his brow as he studies the small, modest structure. The shrine is just barely off school grounds, but it’s by no means subtle with its red paint and various golden ornaments. He would’ve noticed something like this before during his two years at the school, but as far as he’s aware, this is the first time he’s ever known of its existence.

 _I’m probably just seeing shit,_ he tries to reason. Half-heartedly, he rubs his eyes and shakes his head to clear his sleep-clouded mind. _Or it’s been here this whole time and I’m just not very observant. Yeah, probably._

When he opens his eyes, he nearly shrieks at the sight of a large black cat with messily ruffled hair and piercing gray eyes blinking back at him, comfortably seated atop the roof of the shrine.

The existence of the shrine was one thing, sure. But the boy is very, very, _very_ sure that there hadn’t been a cat just moments ago.

“Hello?” He tries again.

The cat just stares unblinkingly at him, gray eyes unimpressed as they meet golden ones.

“Right, you don’t understand what I’m saying,” the boy chastises himself. Awkwardly, he bends his back in a clumsy bow, says, “Well, good evening to you too, Sir Cat,” and speeds away without another word.

Meanwhile, the cat cocks his head in amusement. “So that’s our first meeting in this lifetime, huh?” He muses out loud.

_You’re scatterbrained, for once._

He flicks his tail and smirks at the boy’s retreating figure. “How cute,” he chuckles, properly satisfied with a day well spent.

Then, it happens in a split-second.

The cat leans back on his haunches and arches his back, basking in the last drops of sunlight before nightfall. Just as he’s about to curl into a ball and contemplate what to eat for dinner—mackerel sounds particularly tempting, but he’s already had it three meals in a row—a flash of harsh white blinds him, forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut as a pain sharper than any he’s felt before threatens to shatter his skull.

 _Another one’s gone missing?_ He barely manages to form a coherent thought as he grits his teeth through the pain. _But whom?_

Slowly, the pounding in his head ebbs away. Blinking his eyes back into focus, the cat leaps off his perch on the roof and slinks inside the safety of the shrine. _Who was it?_ His heart pounds, far too violently for his small frame. _Who was it? Who was it? Who could it have been?_

“So it wasn’t you, huh? What a shame.”

The cat whips his head around. A man with a thin face and brown hair parted to the side stands just outside the entrance, upward-slanting narrow eyes staring judgmentally down at the feline form.

“Nice to see you too, Snake Bastard,” the cat sarcastically remarks, making sure to bare each and every one of his pointy white teeth.

“Fuck you, Rooster Haired Bastard,” the man hisses in return.

“No cursing at my shrine.”

The man just scoffs. “As if you’ve ever treated _my_ shrine with respect,” he shoots back. Quickly, his expression morphs into one of grave seriousness as he lowly adds, “But you know why I’m here, punk. After the pain ended I thought it might have been because of you. Turns out you’re still here though, so you’re not guilty.”

Gray, feline eyes narrow uneasily. “Who do you think it was it this time? Haven’t heard from the seagull or the weasel in a while, think it could be one of them?”

“No,” the man dismisses without hesitation. “Neither of them have been around for more than three hundred lifetimes; if one of them croaked, we would’ve barely felt it. It has to be someone much, much stronger.”

The weight of the man’s words don’t fully sink in at first, but then realization dawns in the cat’s mind. “ _No_ ,” he breathes, jaw plummeting in disbelief. “No, you can’t be serious. You think it’s one of _them_?”

“Who else could it be?” The man retorts, impatience flickering in his snakelike gaze. “If it’s not you, then it had to be one of them. You’re the only ones who’ve been around long enough to create this much of an impact and no one’s even seen either of them before—it _has_ to be one of them! Hell, it could be both at the same time, for all we know.”

The cat’s legs quiver. “The fox or the eagle…” he whispers, still unable to believe the possibility—something like this shouldn’t even _be_ a possibility, period.

But the magnitude of the pain he’d experienced mere minutes ago only support this impossible possibility that’s becoming alarmingly more real by the second. Had it been someone young and weak, he wouldn’t have felt more than a slight tingling in his paws. The adverse reaction could only have indicated a subconscious rejection of the departure of someone with power many times beyond his own. Whomever it was who left, they weren’t some low-grade rookie; they had to be one of the only two guardians older than the cat himself.

Knowing that it had to be one of them, however, doesn’t explain the more important question.

 _Why_?

The cat shivers at an invisible chill. “How are we supposed to find out which one it was, then?” He points out weakly. “No one alive even knows their names, much less seen them. I don’t even know where their shrines are!”

“I do.”

The cat raises his hackles at the sudden announcement of a new presence, then relaxes when he recognizes the light voice. “Mika-chan,” he greets, dipping his head in respect. “You look lovely as always.”

The woman who’d appeared at the entrance barely manages to nod her head in greeting. “You too, Tetsurou,” Mika mutters absently.

The snake-eyed man glowers down at Tetsurou. “So she gets a proper greeting and I don’t?”

“Well, she’s a beautiful lady and you’re an ugly bastard, after all.”

“Go die in a fucking ditch.”

“ _Boys_ ,” Mika interrupts, uncharacteristic aggravation in her tone. She rakes a hand through her long hair, accidentally mussing her blunt bangs. “Normally I’d find your banter funny, but this really isn’t the time right now. If you can’t control yourselves long enough to hear what I have to say, then I’m going home now—and I won’t even tell you, Suguru, once you get back,” she glares pointedly at the snake man.

Suguru’s face immediately twists out of the disgusted expression he reserves for Tetsurou and into one of adoration. “Sorry, Mika,” he apologizes. Sheepishly, he rubs the back of his neck, adds, “It’s all the Cat Bastard’s fault, but I guess I’ll be the bigger person and take some of the blame, too.”

 _Dumbass_ , Tetsurou thinks. If he had eyebrows in this form he’d raise them so high they’d fly off his forehead, but he settles for an exaggerated roll of his eyes instead.

Judging by Mika’s exasperated expression, she doesn’t seem particularly impressed by her lover’s simpering, but she sighs and accepts it anyway. “So,” Mika exhales yet again. “I know most of us don’t know where the fox and eagle shrines are, but I’ve been doing some digging for a while now.”

“Clairvoyance,” Suguru pipes in helpfully.

Tetsurou nods. “Ah, yes. I forgot that was Mika-chan’s specialty.”

Mika doesn’t seem to notice their exchange as she barrels on. “I’ve been using my abilities to try and learn more about those two because I had a feeling we’d need to rely on them one day. Through a ton of trial and error, I was able to narrow down their locations to specific prefectures, and since then I’ve been traveling through Hyogo and Miyagi looking for their exact locations.”

 _Hyogo? Miyagi?_ There’s plenty Tetsurou wants to ask, but Mika doesn’t look like she’s in the mood to take questions right now. He stores those tidbits of information in his mind for later usage—although, judging by the way things are playing out, it appears only one of those names will be of future use.

Mika paces uneasily around the opening of the shrine. “After we got those awful headaches, Suguru and I knew that it had to be you or one of them. He came here to check on you, while I decided to go pay their shrines a visit and see if I could maybe catch a glimpse of one of them.”

“And?” The cat prompts. Unconsciously, he squeezes his paws together. “Did you find them?”

Mika holds up a single finger. “Just one,” she says quietly. “I went to Miyagi first and saw him. But he wasn’t what I expected.”

Suguru tilts his head in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He wonders, exchanging uneasy glances with Tetsurou.

“It means,” Mika replies, voice heavy. “It means that he was young and unpowered like a newborn. The one I saw is way too young to be the legendary guardian who’s been around for hundreds and hundreds of lifetimes.”

Silence rings shrilly through the air. A suffocatingly still, tense silence that sends each and every hair on Tetsurou’s body standing up on edge.

The impossible possibility just came true.

Suguru is the first to break the silence. “Which one was it?” He feebly asks. “Who was in Miyagi, Mika? Tell us.”

Mika’s teeth sink into her bottom lip. Tetsurou has known her for countless years, but he’s never once seen her look so defeated. He knows she’s not sad by the disappearance itself—none of them are, since they didn’t even know the one who vanished in the first place—but what it means for the rest of them. For their kind.

As of today, Tetsurou is no longer the third oldest guardian.

Finally, Mika’s shoulders slump in defeat. When she opens her mouth to speak, blood dots her lower lip, threatening to spill onto her chin.

“It was the eagle.”

**Miyagi Prefecture, June**

_“—an impressive fight down to the very last set—no, the very last point—but in the end, Karasuno High School fell just short when vice captain and ace Tanaka Ryuunosuke spiked into the infamous wall. Date Tech High School took home the final set and secured their ticket to the Summer Interhigh for the first time in years, prompting teary-eyed shouts of joy from players and fans alike. And here we have some words from Karasuno captain Ennoshita Chikara about his team’s valiant fight.”_

_“Ah, yes, thank you for speaking to me. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt to lose, but what’s done is done. Dateko are a great team and we have the privilege of knowing their members quite well so there are no hard feelings from us. Obviously we wish we could’ve won and maybe there are some plays that could’ve gone differently, but we’ll take what we learned from this match and use it to improve ourselves. Tsukishima’s already mentioned doing some research on Dateko’s blocks to get some inspiration for our own, and Yamaguchi’s jump floater was the best I’ve ever seen it. And of course we’ve got our monster duo—they may seem like they’re sulking, but knowing them, they’re already planning their next move to surprise everyone.”_

_“And what about you and the other third years? Will you be continuing with the club for the Spring Interhigh qualifiers, or will you hang up the towel after today’s defeat?”_

_“Ahahaha, well I can say with confidence that this isn’t the end of the road for me. I will definitely be staying with the team for another shot at Nationals, and I know for a fact that Tanaka and Nishinoya are hungry for more. Kinoshita and Narita aren’t ones to just quit, either.”_

_“That’s wonderful to hear. Any last words you’d like to say before we wrap up this interview?”_

_“Thank you to all the fans of Karasuno for your continued support! We know this wasn’t the result any of us wanted, but please look forward to our appearance in the next qualifiers in October. We’ll be back stronger than ever!”_

_“Some nice words from a reliable captain! Yes, Karasuno will unfortunately not be making it to the Summer Interhigh after being named the favorites, but we can surely expect to see more good things from them in the future. Next, we have an exclusive interview with Dateko captain Futakuchi Kenji and setter Koganegawa Kanji as they discuss their vigorous training, dedication to defense, and the immeasurable relief at finally making it to Nationals. Stay tuned for more player and coach interviews as we continue the recap and review of today’s Miyagi volleyball qualifiers, as well as a sneak peek for the upcoming tourna—”_

Without warning, the TV goes black. “Okay,” a gruff voice speaks up. “I think you’ve been moping long enough.”

Tobio’s face contorts into a scowl. “I’m not moping,” he grumbles, but his sullen tone doesn’t fool anyone, not even himself. Embarrassed, he shrinks into a ball on the couch and unceremoniously stuffs a throw pillow against his face. “Just let me mope, Iwaizumi-san,” he groans, voice muffled.

Iwaizumi just laughs and yanks the pillow away. His smile is nothing but kind as he ruffles Tobio’s hair. “What, so you lose a match and that makes it okay to break into your favorite neighbor’s house? If you’re gonna mope, do it at your own place. You’d better do something productive if you want to stay here, kiddo.”

Wordlessly, Tobio reluctantly extricates himself from his very comfortable position on the couch and shuffles towards the front door. Instead of leaving, though, he plucks the old volleyball Iwaizumi keeps near the entrance and flops down on his back, legs dangling over the porch as he absently sets the ball over and over again.

“That’s not exactly what I meant by productive, but I’ll let you have this one,” Iwaizumi remarks as he takes a seat next to the glum teenager.

Tobio merely grunts in response.

Their little town in Miyagi is a far cry from a bustling city like Tokyo or Yokohama, but it’s never truly silent. Cicadas and crickets compete over whose singing is shriller, country bumpkin kids constantly run and bike around the neighborhoods, and it’s impossible not to overhear a neighbor’s conversation when they have open windows and thin walls. Iwaizumi doesn’t swing his legs—he’s far too old for that—but he taps his heels against wood every now and then in an indiscernible rhythm. The loudest sound comes from Tobio, when his fingertips meet the ball with satisfying taps.

Countryside silence isn’t very quiet, but it’s peaceful if nothing else.

After a few minutes, Iwaizumi lets out a loud yawn and stretches his arms behind his back. “Well,” he says, “shit happens, Tobio. Sometimes you lose because the other team was simply better than you, but sometimes it’s down to luck. Either way, you can only control so much.”

“I _know_ ,” Tobio mutters. “Doesn’t mean I’m satisfied with losing, though.”

 _Losing_. Even after all his years of playing, he still hasn’t gotten used to that word. He’s lost more times than he can count, but the dull ache in his chest when the last ball is shut out by a blocker or hits the ground before the libero can chase it down never fails to hurt. Tobio may not be as expressive with his emotions as Hinata or Nishinoya or Yamaguchi, but he feels the bitter disappointment just as strongly as they do, all the way down to his bones.

 _I want to be better. I need to be better. I_ have _to be better._

Iwaizumi just hums in acknowledgment. “I missed the first set, but you were on fire during the last two. I still can’t believe it sometimes when I see that freak quick, and it’s obvious your teammates on the court trust you. There was this one play where I was convinced you’d set to Tanaka, but then you fooled everyone when you gave it to Yamaguchi-kun instead. You should’ve seen the look on that Futakuchi kid’s face when that went past him.”

That had been a good play, but Iwaizumi’s giving him too much credit. Tobio never would’ve thought of tricking the opposition like that had Yamaguchi not been the one to nervously ask him to try something out at the end of their first year. It took weeks and weeks of practice, but eventually the transition became seamless and Yamaguchi’s confidence in spiking increased enough for him to become bolder and demand for the ball more often.

“Your blocks have gotten better, too. I wouldn’t want to mess around with Tsukishima-kun if I were the opposition. Wouldn’t want to get on Shouyou’s bad side, either, for that matter.”

Neither would Tobio. Tsukishima’s the irritating combination of being too smart and too much of an ass for his own good, while Hinata’s unpredictable in every sense of the word. He’s so unpredictable it should be predictable at this point, but somehow Hinata always manages to surprise everyone—even his own team—with the stunts he pulls off during tough matches. Usually his antics are enough to inspire the team to a narrow victory, but today they all fell just short.

“I wouldn’t dwell too much on that last point. At the moment you set the ball, Tanaka was the only one with a clear opening. I don’t know how Aone managed to get there in time, but you had no way of knowing he’d zero in on Tanaka. It was just unlucky, that’s all.”

Something in Tobio snaps. “It wasn’t a matter of luck,” he blurts out, messing up the timing of his set. The volleyball lands inches away from his head, but he barely notices it, too consumed by his thoughts.

“It wasn’t luck,” Tobio repeats bitterly. “Aone read me like a book.”

In the split second it took for him to decide to give the ball to Tanaka, he’d seen it: the triumphant narrowing of Aone’s eyes as his gaze shifted to the correct spiker. While Futakuchi and Koganegawa hovered in front of Hinata, Aone had been the only one to guess that Tobio would for once rely on someone else. Because Tobio had hesitated when it normally would’ve bene a no brainer.

He curls his hands into fists, wincing just the slightest when his filed down nails dig into his palms. “I was going to set to Hinata,” he admits. “But then I thought maybe they’d see it coming because I always set to him during clinical moments, so I wanted to break the habit. There were already two blockers on Hinata, too, so I wanted to play it safe by letting Tanaka-san have it. Except Aone still saw through me, anyway.”

“So?” Iwaizumi lifts a brow. “It just means he’s good at what he does. Doesn’t mean you suck or anything. Besides, it sounds like the other blockers had already guessed you’d probably set to Hinata since he’s your usual partner in crime and everything. Having absolute trust in someone doesn’t automatically make you invincible, after all.”

He’s right as always. Tobio doesn’t suck—he _knows_ he doesn’t suck—and neither does anyone from Karasuno, but not sucking doesn’t mean they always make the right plays.

“Well,” Tobio shrugs, or at least the best impression of one he can do while lying flat on his back. “Then maybe I should’ve just trusted Hinata after all.”

Losing hurts. Making a bad toss hurts. Letting people who trusted him down hurts. Not qualifying to the Interhigh when they were so close hurts.

But the look on Hinata’s face when a toss he thought would come to him, doesn’t? That’s something more than simple hurt.

Tobio ignores the feeling of fingers squeezing around his heart.

The sound of a chuckle breaks him out of his negativity. Tobio spares an incredulous glance at Iwaizumi and demands, “Why are you laughing?”

Iwaizumi’s laughter only increases tenfold at the petulant question. He’s practically bent in half as he keels over, body shaking with mirth. “Sorry, Tobio,” he wheezes, wiping away tears from the corners of his eyes.

Unimpressed, Tobio shows him his best scowl, which just causes Iwaizumi to roar even harder. 

“ _What_?” Tobio grumbles, yet he can’t actually find it within himself to be seriously annoyed. Iwaizumi is, by all means, an exceptionally nice person, but it’s rare to see him so openly happy. He tends to be generous with his smiles but they’re only seen in brief glimpses. Laughter comes in even shorter durations.

Once Iwaizumi has finally stopped losing his mind over whatever he could be finding so funny, he too sprawls on his back and reaches over to ruffle Tobio’s hair—a habit of his that started when Tobio was much younger, but neither of them intend to stop any time soon.

“You really remind me of someone, that’s all,” Iwaizumi murmurs, gaze fixed on the darkening sky directly overhead.

 _Oh_.

Tobio’s long since learned that whenever Iwaizumi talks about _someone_ , it’s always the same person. He’s never dared to ask exactly who this person is, but he’s had a sneaking suspicion ever since he was a kid.

Iwaizumi inherited his parents’ house after they moved into a retirement home (he insisted that they stay so he could take care of them, but they were equally adamant about letting him have some freedom), and as far as Tobio can tell, he hasn’t redecorated the place much. Pictures hang all over the walls of a much, much, younger Iwaizumi from his childhood all the way through his young adult years. And while Tobio is far from academically gifted and is well aware that his social skills could use some work, his mother’s also not entirely right when she teases that he has a volleyball for a brain.

He notices plenty of things about people, even if he can’t always read them very well. One thing he’s noticed for a long time now is that Iwaizumi is never alone in any of his pictures—because throughout this collection of his memories, another boy is growing up alongside him.

The boy is chubby-cheeked and wide-eyed in their early pictures, usually shown wearing T-shirts with an alien head logo and clinging to a stone-faced Iwaizumi in some way. As the pictures progress, the boy’s smile turns a bit more devious and his brown hair bouncier, but he’s always got a hold on Iwaizumi. Tobio’s studied the photos of them for years now, and the one thing he’s never quite been able to figure out is why the other boy disappeared after a photo of the two in their twenties.

Tobio’s never asked, and Iwaizumi’s never explained. It’s an unspoken agreement between them that Tobio is too much of a coward to breach.

Although, it doesn’t stop him from wondering why Iwaizumi always has that sad smile on his face whenever he mentions _someone_.

Iwaizumi lifts his arm over his eyes to check his watch. “Well, I’d better get started on dinner,” he announces, heaving out a sigh as he hoists himself to his feet. “Anything you’re craving?”

Like that, the moment’s already passed. “Curry,” Tobio grunts, squeezing the volleyball as hard as he can. Then, because his parents would kick his ass if they ever heard him making such curt orders like that to an adult, adds a much softer “Please” as an afterthought.

Iwaizumi doesn’t seem to care about his lack of manners. “Mmhmm, gotcha,” he yawns, already ambling over to the kitchen. “Is Miwa gonna swing by later, too?” He calls over his shoulder.

“She’s still on her work trip,” Tobio scrunches his nose.

“Ahhh, I see. So just three of us tonight, then.”

Iwaizumi shuts the door behind him, leaving Tobio alone with just a volleyball and his thoughts in a neighborhood that never silences. Huffing out one last sigh— _no more moping_ , he orders himself—he focuses his gaze upwards and gets lost in the routine of setting the ball again.

Well, losing still sucks. Nothing’s about to change that. But it’s not like he can do anything about the result now. The only way to lose less is to practice more, and Tobio’s never been one to shy away from hard work.

The coaches are giving them a day off tomorrow, but everyone’s minds are undoubtedly already on qualifiers for Nationals. Tobio already has an idea of where his teammates’ areas of focus would be these upcoming months—Yamaguchi and Kinoshita on their jump floaters, Tanaka on improving accuracy without reigning in power, Ennoshita and Narita on stamina and power, Tsukishima on his read blocking (the smartass was probably already watching the replay of today’s match and old recordings of last January’s clash against Kamomedai), and Hinata on controlling his receives.

 _Maybe I’ll work on my serve, too,_ he ponders. He _had_ missed four today, after all. _Or maybe I should figure out how to fix the whole predictable unpredictability part. Or polish up that minus tempo attack. Probably figure out how to deal with annoying blockers, too. Also making sure that my sets are consistent and—_

In some ironic twist of fate, his fingers slip up his last set and the ball flies through the air. Tobio watches as the ball lands with a resounding _thunk!_ in the farthest corner of Iwaizumi’s front yard, weighing the pros and cons of retrieving it (so he could continue practicing) or staying put (because he’s just had a long day and he’s feeling uncharacteristically lazy).

With a groan, he accepts that he might as well keep practicing since it would be a long time before dinner anyway. He pushes himself to his feet and ambles over to the worn out volleyball—why Iwaizumi keeps that old thing around, Tobio’s never asked but always wondered. Just as he picks it up and is ready to rest on the porch again, however, something in the corner of his eye catches his attention.

The ball didn’t make much of an impact when it hit the ground, but it kicked up enough dirt and dust to leave a small imprint. Tobio almost thinks he’s just hallucinating at first, but when he squints, he can definitely see the tiniest hint of something artificially blue peeking out from the shallow imprint.

Curious, he kneels down and brushes aside the dirt around the suspicious spot. The patch of blue grows as he clears more and more dirt, followed by the feeling of his nails clacking against something definitely plastic. Tobio snags his bottom lip between his teeth as he uses both hands to dig away at the spot until he can make out more blue and a smooth, rounded shape.

His hands are gross now and he’s already not looking forward to scrubbing away at the grime underneath his fingernails, but something inside him urges him to keep digging. The object isn’t just blue, but white too on its curve. It’s not very big, either, yet whoever buried it didn’t do a very thorough job because all it took was a volleyball dropping at a relatively tame speed to unearth part of it. Still, that begs the question of who would bury something here anyway, why no one’s found it before, how long has it been here, does Iwaizumi know anything, shouldn’t he know something since it’s his own front yard, was he the one who buried it here in the first place, what the hell even is—

Fed up with digging, Tobio grips the object’s curved edge as tightly as he can and rips it out of the ground, spraying dirt through the air and on his clothes in the process as he finds himself face to face with…a painfully bright blue and white toy UFO with a green alien inside the clear plastic cockpit.

Tobio just stares at the children’s toy with the blankest stare he can muster. _Well, that was worth my time,_ he grouses internally. He got his hands dirty and lost a precious few minutes of setting practice to act out on an impulse, and for what? To find some toy that was probably buried because it’s so incredibly ugly and fake looking? Screw that.

Out of spite, he jabs his dirty index finger at the plastic sphere protecting the alien. Maybe he attacks it a little too violently, because the next thing he knows, the cockpit completely splits open and out pops the horrendous alien—along with something else he hadn’t noticed before.

A densely folded up piece of paper lands on the grass by Tobio’s knee. He tosses the UFO aside and snatches up the paper instead, curiosity that had died down now piqued again. Hastily, he unfolds the note to find a page filled with scrawl that unmistakably belonged to a child and a stick figure drawing of two boys holding hands, one with wavy lines for hair and the other with spikes.

_IWA-CHAN!!!_

_Happy birthday, ugly brute! Even though you’re mean and call me names and chase me with bugs, you’re still my best friend in the world! For today and today early, I permit you to hit me as many times as you want >_< But don’t ruin my face, okay? Not that I’d ever be uglier than you even if you disfigured me, but still!!_

_(Mom’s reading this over my shoulder and telling me I have to write something nice, so fine)_

_Can’t believe you’re ten, Iwa-chan. Double digits already? You’re ancient now, but I’ll be just like you in forty days! And you’re not allowed to gloat about being a year older than me these next forty days! I’m serious!_

_Happy tenth!!!!!!!! ^_^ Let’s spend another hundred birthdays together!_

_-Tooru_

_P.S. I still haven’t forgiven you for putting that beetle under my shirt, meanie! You owe me ten million milk breads now!_

“What the hell?” Tobio whispers breathlessly. His hands shake and create rips in the old paper. The feeling of _something_ crashes into him like a spike to the chest—the feeling that he’s just dug up some hidden secret as well as uncovered something far too intimate for his eyes to see.

The feeling that he’s just broken the unspoken agreement.

The more rational side of him knows that it’s best to not think too much about what the contents of the note mean and to just forget about this incident and go back to setting, but Tobio’s never been too good at holding back. His mind flies to piece together what he already knew with this newfound information, ignoring all the red flags and warning signs that he’s venturing into uncharted, locked off territory.

Fact #1: The toy UFO and the birthday note inside it have been buried in the Iwaizumi family’s yard for over thirty years now. Iwaizumi just turned forty-three the other week and the note was clearly written for his tenth birthday. He probably didn’t even know the UFO was here all these years, or else he would’ve dug it out at some point.

Fact #2: The note had to be written by the other boy in those photos. Judging by the stick figures holding hands, the casual way the note is written, and the hairstyles, it could only be the boy with the bouncy brown hair and a toothy smile.

Fact #3: Tobio finally has a name to put to a face.

_Tooru._

The sound of the front door swinging open jerks him out of his deductions. Iwaizumi pokes his head out and calls, “Oi, Tobio! I’m out of onions, so do you mind running to the store and grabbing so—uhhh, what are you doing over there?”

Tobio jolts to his feet at a lightning-fast speed he didn’t even know he was capable of (faster than Nishinoya dashing across the court, his brain very helpfully—and uselessly—supplies). “Sorry!” He yelps like a cadet. “I messed up a set and the ball came here, then I found something buried in the ground!”

Iwaizumi furrows his brow. “You found something in the ground?” He repeats, tone skeptical as he shoves his feet into a pair of flip flops and jogs down the steps. “What could you have possibly found in my yard— _oh,_ ” he whispers as his eyes land on the broken UFO by Tobio’s feet. “ _Oh._ ”

Guilt washes over Tobio like ice water. Awkwardly, he holds out his hand with the paper in it. “I—I found this inside,” he mumbles in some lame, stiff attempt at an explanation for why he’s seen something he knows he shouldn’t have.

If Iwaizumi hears him, he shows no indication of it. Almost as if he were in a trance, he slowly, slowly crouches down and cradles the UFO in his hands like it’s made of glass. Another pang of guilt stabs Tobio in the chest at the sight of the broken cockpit—what possessed him to think it was okay to treat someone else’s belonging the way he did? He should’ve stopped to consider the possibility that the toy holds some sort of significance as it very clearly does, but of course he didn’t use his head before acting.

Suddenly, knowing the contents of the note makes him feel dirty. “It’s a letter for you!” Tobio blurts out as he all but shoves the aged paper into his neighbor’s face.

Iwaizumi blinks. “Oh. Huh. Thanks, Tobio,” he replies, voice and eyes devoid of emotion as he emptily accepts the paper.

Something about the mechanical way Iwaizumi stares at the note while limply clutching the UFO in his other hand causes Tobio’s skin to crawl with the sensation of a thousand spiders. The Iwaizumi he’s known since he was a little kid has always been outspoken and unfazed by any obstacle. He’s the guy who didn’t hesitate to walk into a freezing river and effortlessly pluck a screaming Miwa out of the water when she fell in during a fishing trip. He’s the only adult brave enough to storm into the Kitagawa Daiichi gym and rip the coach a new one for ignoring the growing rift between Tobio and his teammates and forced the kids to have a sit down and discuss their issues. He’s the one who encouraged Tobio to keep playing volleyball when the latter was ready to quit after the death of his grandfather. Iwaizumi always does what needs to be done without being swayed by other things, period.

So to see the unshakeable rock he’s admired since childhood suddenly shut down…it makes Tobio wish he never uncovered the damn UFO in the first place.

A huge part of him is tempted to flee to his own house and avoid his neighbor like the plague, but his feet remain rooted to the ground. Not only would it be rude since Iwaizumi’s already started cooking dinner for him and doing so would almost certainly make things incredibly awkward, but Tobio knows he’s responsible for whatever stupor Iwaizumi’s currently in. Tobio got caught sticking his nose somewhere it doesn’t belong, and the only way to make things right is to own up to his actions.

Before he can even open his mouth to apologize, however, Iwaizumi lifts his eyes from the paper and offers Tobio a smile. “My friend hid this on my birthday, but I got fed up with looking and never found it,” he explains breezily. “I forgot it was ever here in the first place. Funny you were able to find it all these years later.”

Tobio averts his gaze. _Stop giving me that fake smile_. “Ah. I see.”

“Yep,” Iwaizumi exhales, loud and deep. The sound of paper crinkling fills the air, followed by another long exhale. “Anyway, I’m still out of onions, so can you run and buy some? Oh, and I think I’m almost out of salt too, actually.”

“Sure,” Tobio jerks his head up and down in what he hopes comes off as a convincing nod.

When he dares to look at the older man’s face again, a wave of relief washes over him at the sight of a much more natural smile gracing Iwaizumi’s lips. “Thanks, kid,” Iwaizumi says. “Don’t forget to look both ways before crossing the road, okay?”

Wordlessly, Tobio nods again and sets off on his way, not daring to glance over his shoulder.

It’s weird, he muses as he jogs to the store a few blocks over. He’s known Iwaizumi for a little under eleven years now and considers the man to be a second father, but sometimes, he gets hit with the reality that Iwaizumi is actually fairly distant. Not distant in the sense that he’s cold and aloof or uncaring, but like he’s got something from the past weighing him down and won’t talk about whatever it is.

When Tobio’s family first moved into the neighborhood, only Iwaizumi’s parents lived in the house next door. Then, a few years later, their only son returned to his hometown for some unknown reason. When little Tobio saw a muscular man hitting a volleyball around in his backyard one night, he immediately shoved on his sneakers and ran outside to greet his new (self-declared) practice partner. To say Iwaizumi had been surprised to find some six year old brat demanding for a partner to spike his tosses would be an understatement, but Iwaizumi had taken it in stride and spent the rest of his evening playing with his neighbor.

Naturally Tobio’s parents had initially been skeptical about letting their son play with a thirty-something year old man, so Tobio’s grandfather took it upon himself to assess the guy. After a tiring afternoon of setting, spiking, and bumping in the park, Kageyama Kazuyo came back with a beam and an affirmative report regarding the quality of Iwaizumi Hajime’s character. Still not completely sold, the Kageyamas arranged a dinner with the Iwaizumi family to give their own verdict.

With his easygoing personality, handsome face, and mature demeanor, Iwaizumi won them over before dessert.

Since then, Tobio’s parents didn’t bat an eye when Tobio and sometimes Miwa would run over to the house next door with a volleyball in hand. Iwaizumi was a busy man with his full time job as a physiotherapist, but he always found time to entertain the kids no matter how tired he was. He was there for them whenever their parents were too busy to keep an eye on them, when they craved a special dish but didn’t know how to make it themselves, when they needed someone trustworthy to tell a secret, or just whenever they sought attention. Tobio became such a common guest in his neighbor’s house that Iwaizumi’s aging parents learned to leave snacks and drinks for him on the counter.

Then, when he was nine, the Kageyamas dropped a bomb on their kids: they were being relocated to Yokohama for work. Miwa, who was about to start her last year of high school, was adamant against changing schools during her third year when she already had friends and post-high school plans. Tobio had been reluctant to move, too, but not because of friends. Yokohama didn’t have Shiratorizawa Academy.

Accepting that they weren’t about to change their stubborn children’s minds, the Kageyamas compromised: they would come back to Miyagi during the summer holidays and the end of the year as well as regularly send money home, but it would largely be up to Miwa to look after Tobio during school. Miwa agreed immediately, but to absolutely no one’s surprise, most eighteen year old girls didn’t want to babysit their little brothers all the time. Not like Tobio minded, though—he was much more content following Iwaizumi around like a lost puppy.

(“Why don’t you ever, I dunno, go hang out at your friends’ houses or something?” Iwaizumi commented one day as he cracked eggs into a pan.

Tobio, who’d been sitting at the table patiently waiting for his dinner, pouted. “I don’t have friends,” he replied with utmost seriousness.

Iwaizumi coughed. “That’s not good, Tobio,” he chastised. “You should try and get along with the kids in your class more. Wouldn’t you rather hang out with them instead of some old man like me?”

“Why would I?” Tobio frowned. Did Iwaizumi not want him around? Was that what this was all about?

“Why would you want to stick around some sad guy who’s almost the same age as your parents?” Iwaizumi pointed out as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Tobio contemplated that for a solid five seconds, then shrugged. “Because you’re the only one who can hit my sets well,” he declared matter-of-factly. “Is the omurice almost ready?”)

Looking back, perhaps his attachment to his neighbor _was_ a bit odd after all, Tobio thinks as he forks over part of his allowance to pay for a sack of onions. Perhaps if he’d tried harder to make friends with his classmates and teammates, he could’ve avoided some of the stickier situations he found himself in later on. Like the drama with his middle school volleyball team, for one. Tobio doesn’t deny that he’s sullen and hard to get along with, but in middle school, he was downright arrogant. He was too ambitious and confident in his own skills, and that led to problems when his teammates struggled to keep up with his ridiculous demands. _King_ , they jeered at him. _Oh King, are we commoners not good enough for you?_

Kitagawa Daiichi’s coach didn’t care about the rapidly escalating tensions on his team so long as they kept winning. Iwaizumi, however, attended just one match to see how his alma mater and favorite neighbor was doing, and he was instantly able to deduce that something was wrong. He convinced Kageyama to open up about the problems, then kicked open the door to the gym the next day and scared everyone shitless with his drill sergeant-esque shouting. Then he dragged Tobio and Kindaichi, the member whom Tobio had the most issues with, outside for a much-needed intervention and (metaphorically) slapped some sense into them. Obviously the problems didn’t go away immediately after that, but the rift between Tobio and the others gradually shrank. Tobio was even able to part with Kindaichi on good terms when they graduated and went their separate ways as still not quite friends, but with promises to compete as rivals in high school.

(“Your dad is so cool,” Kindaichi whispered in awe after the absolute rollicking they’d just received.

Tobio didn’t bother correcting him.)

Iwaizumi was also the first to hear the news about failing Shiratorizawa’s entrance exam, too. Tobio already knew he wasn’t going to make it after the more than hellish test he nearly died taking, but not seeing his name on the admitted students list hurt like a blow to the face anyway. Shiratorizawa wasn’t just the strongest volleyball school in Miyagi; Tobio’s grandfather, AKA his first idol, went there, and knowing that he’d failed to make it felt like he was disappointing Kazuyo. Iwaizumi had patiently listened to Tobio’s difficult explanation, then gave him a brisk pat on the back—because that was his way of doing things; he didn’t offer sympathy, just the truth and an unspoken _you are strong, you will get past this_ —and treated him to consolation ramen.

(“I think I’ll go to Aoba Johsai after all,” Tobio declared between slurps.

Iwaizumi paused with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth. “Oh? What’s with the sudden change of mind?” He raised a brow.

“Nothing big, really,” Tobio shrugged as evenly as he could. “They did scout me, and I already know Kindaichi so it would probably be easy to fit in. Plus you graduated from there, too.”

All he got in response was a low, thoughtful hum. Which, in Iwaizumi-speak, could only mean he had a lot of thoughts about something but was thinking very carefully about the best way to express those thoughts in the fewest words possible.

Tobio’s stomach plummeted. “You don’t think it’s a good idea,” he states rather than asks. Appetite gone, he tugs at his mentor’s sleeve with wide, incredulous eyes and demands, “Why?”

Iwaizumi didn’t even flinch. “I don’t,” he agreed easily. “But I’m in no position to tell you not to go, so don’t misinterpret what I’m about to say as discouragement.”

“I just think that before you make a big decision like this, you need to ask yourself if you’re doing it for the right reason. Like, are you choosing Seijoh because you really think it’s the best place to foster your talent, or are you only saying you want to go because you have connections to other people who went there?”

Tobio’s grip slackened.

Keeping his eyes on his ramen, Iwaizumi tousled Tobio’s hair and smiled a small, wry little grin. “If you spend your entire life chasing after others, odds are you’ll miss out on something more important,” he murmured.)

 _I didn’t actually get what he meant back then,_ Tobio admits to himself with a thin, sardonic grin. He rips the straw off the milk carton he’d picked up at a vending machine by a bus stop and jams it into the box. _I just thought he sounded cool_.

After that slightly unusual incident, Tobio decided that no, Seijoh was not somewhere he truly wanted to go. So he did his research on other volleyball powerhouses in the prefecture, and while none could compare to the prestige of Shiratorizawa, he did stumble upon a rather interesting, once victorious school. Karasuno High was long past its old glory days, but with rumors that the legendary coach Ukai could be coming out of retirement to whip the team back into shape, Tobio’s mind was made up.

To make a long story short, Iwaizumi wasn’t just some friendly neighbor in Tobio’s life; he was a role model, a mentor, a second father, a steadfast adult he could always depend on, and the first one Tobio would seek out when the going got rough. He’s been instrumental in Tobio’s development from a little boy who just wanted someone to play volleyball with, to a hotheaded middle schooler who was the bane of his team’s existence, to a much more dependable high schooler who played a major role in Karasuno’s success while also helping his teammates reach their full potential. Without Iwaizumi, Tobio doesn’t even know how his life would have turned out.

It’s the emphasis of just how important Iwaizumi is to him, however, that makes Tobio realize how very little he actually knows about Iwaizumi in return.

What was he like when he was Tobio’s age? Why did he decide to go abroad after graduating high school? Why did he eventually come back to Miyagi? What’s the secret to his strength? Why did he even bother watching over his bratty little neighbor, anyway?

Who is Tooru, and what happened to him?

Tobio sucks the last few droplets of milk out of the carton as he hops up the front steps to Iwaizumi’s. He doesn’t feel entitled to know everything about Iwaizumi’s life, not at all. But sometimes, he can’t help himself from wondering why the older man doesn’t like talking about his past and even goes out of his way to avoid it or change the subject whenever it comes up. It’s as if his life began when he turned thirty and everything before that doesn’t matter, but it _does_. Tobio owes a lot to Iwaizumi, and even though he’s much younger and still a naïve kid in the grand scheme of things, he harbors a fierce protectiveness for his mentor that he can’t quite explain but knows exists.

Iwaizumi deserves to be happy. The only problem is, Tobio can never pinpoint why, but he knows that for some reason, Iwaizumi _isn’t_ happy. At least, not one hundred percent. All the kind smiles, words of encouragement, and effortless confidence in the world can’t hide that one simple truth.

“I’m back,” Tobio calls, kicking his shoes off and neatly placing them on the shoe rack. As he shuffles into the kitchen, he readjusts his grip on the shopping bag with one hand and pulls out a can of iced coffee from his pocket with the other. “I got the stuff you told me to get and something from the vending machine for you. Where should I put—”

The sight of Iwaizumi’s hunched back instantly makes Tobio’s words vanish into thin air and his mouth run dry.

Iwaizumi always has perfect, arrow-straight posture (“You can’t be caught slouching when you’re my height,” he once scowled). Tobio can count the number of times he’s seen him slip up on one hand, but all those times were because Iwaizumi had been stooped over laughing at something ridiculous. But this time, there’s no laughter to be heard and the way Iwaizumi’s shoulders are trembling looks entirely foreign. So does the gesture when he uses the heels of his hands to brush away something on his face and the little stifled, choking hiccups escaping every few seconds.

Frozen in place, all Tobio can do is watch as a peculiar numbness dulls his head. _He’s crying_ , his mind helpfully supplies. _He’s crying. He’s crying._

Almost eleven years of knowing each other, and this marks the first time Tobio’s ever seen him cry.

“Tobio?” Iwaizumi’s voice suddenly pierces through the tense atmosphere. When he turns around, his expression is back to its usual relaxed self and it’s almost enough to fool Tobio into believing he hallucinated the past few seconds. _Almost_.

The red rimming around Iwaizumi’s eyes, however, is all the proof Tobio needs.

“Are you okay?” He asks, not expecting an honest answer. Better to throw a bone that won’t be taken than brush aside the incident entirely.

“Oh, yeah,” Iwaizumi smiles, bright and fake and unnatural and entirely unsettling. Even the laugh that follows feels wrong—it’s too short and forced. “I’m all good. Just cutting onions, y’know?”

Tobio’s fingers tighten around the bag in his hand. “Onions,” he echoes. “Right. Onions.”

The smile slides off Iwaizumi’s face when his eyes drop to the grocery bag. Sheepishly, he rubs the back of his neck and avoids Tobio’s imploring stare. “I’m okay, Tobio,” he insists. “I swear I’m okay.”

 _Liar_.

There were about a million things Tobio wanted to say in response to the blatant lie, but he never gets the chance. Right as he opens his mouth—to speak, ask, accuse, he doesn’t even know—the telltale sound of the door opening and heavy footsteps shuffling down the hall ruin his chance.

“Good evening, Hajime,” a deep, monotonous voice greets, followed by the appearance of a tall man with short brown hair and stern eyes.

Iwaizumi clears his throat. “You’re home early,” he remarks in surprise.

“Yes. Practice ended earlier than expected after half the players collapsed out of exhaustion. A severe miscalculation on our end,” the man reports. He offers Tobio a courteous nod, says, “Hello, Tobio. I wasn’t able to make it, but I saw some clips from your match today. My deepest condolences about the loss.”

Tobio winces at the reopening of his still fresh wound. “Yeah,” he glowers at the floorboards. Then, to sound less rude, he adds a respectful, “Thanks, Ushijima-san.”

Ushjima Wakatoshi. Retired V.League 1 opposite hitter for the Schweiden Adlers. Current member of the coaching staff for his former team. Stone-faced. Imposing. A man of few words. Extremely blunt, but always well-meaning. Polite, formal, and straightforward—if not a bit dense—to a T. Surprisingly dumb at times and unintentionally goofy at others.

Also: Iwaizumi Hajime’s long-term partner.

Ennoshita coolly lifts a brow. “Oh, no you don’t. Not today, you two,” he warns, arms crossed resolutely across his chest.

“What?” Hinata squawks, baffled. “But Tanaka-san said we could do our own practice if we wanted to!”

Beside him, Tobio frowns in displeasure. “It’s a day off, so we’re allowed to spend it however we want,” he points out.

“Right! What he said!” Hinata agrees, nodding vigorously.

Clearly, Ennoshita is not impressed with their sound logic. Normally he isn’t particularly tall and his expressions are mild-mannered, but when he looms on the top step before the door to the gym and shoots them a narrow-eyed glare, he’s quite possibly scarier than former captain Daichi.

In the blink of an eye, Ennoshita’s back to his usual calm self as his mouth quirks into a smile. For a brief, fleeting moment, Tobio almost believes the captain was about to give in, but Ennoshita’s next words cause his blood to run cold.

“You haven’t forgotten about exams in two weeks, have you?”

Tobio and Hinata flinch at the same time. “N-n-nooooo, of course we didn’t,” Hinata laughs nervously and completely unconvincingly. “We’re working hard, I swear!”

“Oh, you don’t say?” Ennoshita mock gasps, eyes nearly doubling in size as he leers down at the troublesome duo. His smirk is practically feral as he holds an expectant hand out and pleasantly says, “Then you wouldn’t mind showing me how you did on your English tests, right? Since you’re working _soooooo_ hard and all.”

Hinata starts to sweat. “Um, you see, the thing is…” He trails off and desperately shoots Tobio a look as if to say, _help me._

 _No, you help_ me, Tobio conveys back with a single scowl.

The smugness on Ennoshita’s face is unbearable as his smirk only deepens. “No passing grades, no entrance to the gym,” the captain declares with all the cheer in the world.

“ _What?!_ ” The pair screech at the same time (Tobio never knew his own voice could go that high, but apparently it can).

“In fact!” Ennoshita continues, completely disregarding the meltdowns occurring right before his eyes. “From now until finals, you aren’t allowed to stay for extra practice, either! Instead, you’ll be forced to study in the clubroom for an hour every day. But don’t worry, the same goes for Tanaka and Nishinoya, so you won’t be alone. I mean, you _do_ want to be able to go to Tokyo for training camp, right? You don’t want to fail again like last year, _mmm_?”

Tobio decides then and there that Daichi has nothing on Ennoshita.

Hinata shrinks in on himself, and somehow even his normally wild hair droops under the weight of Ennoshita’s ultimatum. “Yes, sir,” he sighs, offering their captain a weak salute. “We won’t fail again. Promise.”

An elbow shoves Tobio in the ribs. Taking that as his cue to speak up, Tobio contributes a flat, “Yeah. We won’t fail.”

Just like that, any trace of menace on Ennoshita’s face is gone as he reverts back to his usual, harmless smile. “Study hard, boys,” he laughs, clapping them on the shoulders. With a wink, he adds, “And once you pass your exams, let’s go to Tokyo and kick some city boy ass.”

Yeah, Ennoshita is _definitely_ scarier than Daichi.

“We’re screwed,” Hinata moans the moment they’ve trudged out of earshot. Despairingly, he grabs fistfuls of his orange hair and bleats, “We’re so screwed, Kageyama.”

“Don’t lump me in with you,” Tobio snaps, purposefully choosing not to think about the single digit numbers scribbled in red at the tops of his recent test papers.

With a gasp, Hinata snaps his fingers and exclaims, “I know!” His eyes are riddled with so much hope Tobio can’t bear to look at him directly. “Let’s ask Yachi-san to help again! I’m sure she’ll be willing to—”

“She already left,” a distinct, snarky voice cuts in uninvited. Tobio bristles at the sight of Tsukishima coolly leaning against a wall, headphones around his neck and shit-eating grin positively punchable.

“What kind of creep just stands around like that,” Tobio mutters venomously under his breath at the same time Hinata wails, “What? Nooooo! Where’d she go? Maybe if we run we can catch up to her!”

Tsukishima just scoffs and lazily scrolls through his phone (Tobio bets he’s not actually doing anything on it, just pretending he’s got some kind of business to make himself look cool). “I don’t know, and I wouldn’t tell you anyway. Yamaguchi said he had something he wanted to tell her, and I’m sure he wouldn’t want to be interrupted by the likes of you.”

Hinata’s brow furrows. “Yamaguchi wanted to tell her something?” He echoes, confused. “Well Yamaguchi likes us, so I’m sure he’d help us study, too.”

“You really are an idiot,” Tsukishima rolls his eyes. He casts one last smug glance Tobio’s way before straightening up and placing his headphones over his ears. “And no,” he calls over his shoulder as he walks away. “Don’t even think of asking me to tutor you. I had enough of that last year.”

“Tsukishima, you bastard!” Hinata shouts, shaking his fist at the retreating figure. “I’ll never do anything for you ever again, Stingyshima!”

In proper Tsukishima fashion, his only response is a maniacal cackle as he struts towards the entrance gate.

Tobio’s signature scowl deepens as he glares daggers into Tsukishima’s back. “I hate that guy,” he states, even though no one asked and it’s already pretty obvious.

“Kageyamaaaaa, don’t be like that. You know he was our last lifeline,” Hinata groans and weakly shakes Tobio’s arm. “Do you know anyone else who’s smart and nice enough to help us?”

 _Not Iwaizumi-san_ , Tobio grimaces. Smart? Without a doubt. The man is a physiotherapist; of course he’s good at academics. He’s more than nice enough to help a pair of flunkies, too, but Tobio’s learned from experience that Iwaizumi as a teacher is…not very helpful, to say the least. Too much emphasis on willpower and concentration and not enough actual instruction, for one thing. Also too lenient, for another. And he tends to get side-tracked too, but that’s probably just because Tobio doesn’t stop him from going off on tangents.

Miwa is out since she’s not home a lot, what with her irregular schedule as a hair and makeup artist. She has to go on a lot of short trips to work on sets across the country, and when she is around she has another part time job working at a salon. Miwa’s by no means a negligent sister, but the time she’s able to spend with Tobio is scarce at best. Besides, academics were never her strong suit either despite her not being as hopeless as her little brother.

He doesn’t even bother considering Ushijima, either. Tobio once overheard Ushijima ask Iwaizumi if people on the other side of the world had to have extra strong grip strength in order to hold on to the planet, so that automatically rules him out (Tobio leaves out the fact that he had to Google the question himself to find out the answer).

With the only three people outside the team that he regularly hangs around with out of the question, Tobio is resigned to shake his head and say, “Nope, sorry.”

Hinata pouts, and Tobio’s fingers itch to reach out and squeeze his cheeks or ruffle his fluffy hair or— _stop,_ his mind warns. _Don’t go there._

“Darn,” Hinata sighs, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Guess we could always ask Ennoshita-san for help? But he’s probably busy with Tanaka-san and Nishinoya-san already, so—Oh! I’ve got it!”

“Got what?” Tobio blinks. _Not height_ , the more childish part of his brain sniggers.

Hinata claps his hands together excitedly. “I totally forgot since he got in late last night, but my Manga Dad is back from Tokyo!”

 _Manga Dad?_ “You mean…Akaashi-san?” Tobio guesses. Not like it’s particularly hard to figure out whom Hinata’s referring to, because the only other option wasn’t exactly a great student when he was their age, either.

“Yeah!” Hinata grins. “I think he’s still asleep since you know how he’s nocturnal, but I’m sure he’ll teach us if we ask. Whaddaya say, Kageyama?”

Tobio contemplates the offer. Pros: Tutoring from a reliable, mature adult; seeing Hinata’s house for the first time; maybe even getting a chance to eat Akaashi’s cooking that Hinata always hypes up; also possibly being able to practice some sets with a very experienced and intelligent former player.

Cons: Being around Hinata for too long can sometimes make Tobio a little nervous.

Yeah, it’s a no brainer.

“Let’s go,” he decides, shouldering his backpack with newfound resolve. “And then I’m gonna help you fix that shitty serve of yours.”

“Excuse me? Time and place, Kageyama! Time and place!” Hinata whines indignantly.

Tobio just smirks down at him and jeers, “Better work on those sloppy receives while you’re at it, too.”

“Kageyama!” The much shorter boy bristles in anger. “Yeah, well you’d better fix your…your…argh, forget it! Fix your stupid face! Firstonetomyplacewins!” He shouts as he takes off, leaving a pile of dust in his wake.

It takes Tobio a solid five seconds to process what just happened, but then his competitive reflex kicks in and he immediately sprints after Hinata’s speeding form. “Cheater!” Tobio roars as he strides through the courtyard. “I don’t even know where the hell your house is!”

Hinata glances back just long enough to stick his tongue out, brown eyes shining in a mix of determination and playfulness.

And damn if that weren’t a sight.

Hinata’s only inches away from the door when Tobio, in a desperate, last ditch effort, grabs him by the scruff of his neck and shoves him out of the way, then victoriously twists open the doorknob and barges inside.

“That’s foul play!” Hinata cries out, jabbing an accusing finger at Tobio’s chest. “Since you’re nothing but a dirty cheater, I’m counting that as _my_ win!”

“Well _you_ didn’t tell me you lived on the other side of a goddamn mountain!” Tobio retorts, hands on his knees as he wheezes for air. “Besides, the rules don’t say cheating _isn’t_ allowed!”

“That’s because we don’t have any rules!”

“Ha! So if there are no rules then it’s impossible to cheat!”

“Wha—that’s—you—you can’t—ugh, forget it! Next time I’ll throw a rock at your head and see how you like that!”

“Too bad your aim sucks.”

“KAGEYAMA I SWEAR—”

“Shouyou? What’s going on?” A weary yawn interrupts the commotion as the figure of a tall man with a head of unruly black curls emerges from the kitchen.

Hinata lights up. “Hi, Dad!” He greets happily.

Akaashi Keiji stifles another yawn as he blindly reaches out to pat Hinata on the head. “Hello, to you too, Shouyou. Why were you just screaming? I thought you were staying late to practice today?”

“Oh! Ennoshita-san kicked us out and said we have to study hard for exams instead, but all of our smart friends ditched us so we thought you could help us today.”

“‘We’? Who’s we?” Akaashi raises a brow as he stumbles for his glasses. Once he can see again, he finally notices the other boy in his house. “Oh, Kageyama-kun. Nice to see you again,” he says, offering Tobio a tired, yet sincere smile. “How are you? Are Iwaizumi-san and Ushijima-san doing well?”

Tobio bows in return, partially out of respect and partially in an attempt to hide the pink dusting his cheeks. Akaashi’s always had that effect on him, and the last thing Tobio needs is for Hinata to notice and tease him for acting so dumb. “Nice to see you too, Akaashi-san. We’re all doing well,” he responds stiffly.

Akaashi tugs the sleeves of his oversized sweatshirt over his palms. “Mmm, that’s good to hear. I’m sorry I missed your match yesterday, by the way. I thought I’d be able to come back two days ago, but there was a mishap with another editor and I had to cover for him. Koutarou tells me you all played well though, regardless of the result.”

“Daaaaad,” Hinata interjects. “Tutoring, please? We need to pass or else we can’t go to Tokyo!”

“You say that like you don’t have plenty of nice adults willing to drive you there if you fail,” Akaashi teases, fondly smoothing down Hinata’s wild curls much to the latter’s chagrin. “But fine. I suppose I’d rest easier knowing my son can finally score in the double digits. Bring your books down and I’ll see what I can do for both of you.”

Hinata flies up the stairs screaming words of praise for the “Best Dad ever! But don’t tell Dad or else he might feel left out!”, leaving Tobio to awkwardly twiddle his thumbs at the kitchen table as Akaashi turns on the kettle.

The first time Tobio met Akaashi, it was during one of Karasuno’s official matches the previous year. He’d been watching the stands to see if Iwaizumi was there when the sight of a spiky head of gray hair caused his lungs to stop functioning. Unfortunately, Asahi, last year’s ace, just so happened to be practicing his jump serves at the moment, and Tobio registered his shout of alarm too late as the ball collided with his face. As a mortified Tobio sat on the bench while Yachi fussed over his bloody nose, Hinata had sauntered over with unrestrained glee on his face.

(“So what made you so distracted?” He asked, curiously peering at Tobio’s disheveled state.

Tobio’s eyes nervously darted to the stands first to make sure he wasn’t being watched (he was, actually. Iwaizumi’s face had been bright red as he tried and failed not to laugh, but the real distraction was occupied with someone else) and beckoned Hinata closer. “Don’t look or else you’ll be too obvious, but I’m pretty sure that’s Bokuto Koutarou up there,” Tobio whispered in awe.

Hinata quirked his brow. “Huh?” He—against Tobio’s insistence—turned his entire body and scanned the half-full stands. “Oh yeah, that is him.”

“How can you be so casual?” Tobio gaped, spooking Yachi with the intensity of his incredulity (“Don’t move so suddenly!”). “Do you even know how big he is? He’s a _former pro_ , dumbass. He was one of the two aces of Japan who led the team to so many medals! I don’t know if he still works for the Jackals after retiring, but what if he’s here as a scout? Oh god, what if—”

A booming voice interrupted Tobio in the middle of his spiel and nearly gave him a heart attack. “HEY HEY HEY! SHOUYOU!” None other than Bokuto Koutarou himself hollered, waving both of his long, muscular arms with reckless abandon.

“HEY HEY HEY!” Hinata whooped back, waving back with just as much excitement and completely oblivious to all the eyes in the gymnasium staring at him.

Tobio’s jaw dropped so fast he saw stars (Yachi ever so kindly placed her hand on his chin and pushed his mouth closed. “Stop moving around so much, your nose won’t stop bleeding,” she scolded, sighing as she tossed another bloodied tissue into the discard pile). He snatched Hinata by the elbow, demanded, “How the hell does a former pro know you? How do _you_ know him?”

“Eh?” Hinata tilted his head with a perplexed smile. “What d’you mean? He’s my dad, of course I know him.”

Cue the record scratch, pin dropping, crickets chirping, etc.

“ _WHAT?_ ” Tobio screeched (“Kageyama-kun, please calm down!” Yachi helplessly yelped). “B-but your names!”

“My biological mother’s,” Hinata replied matter-of-factly, unfazed by Tobio’s slack-jawed, bloody nosed face of disbelief. “She was a surrogate, but my dads kept her family name for me to honor her.”

 _Dads_? Dad, plural? That was also news to Tobio, but he couldn’t even focus on that part because his mind was still blown by the revelation that Hinata was _the son of a former pro volleyball player._ “Then why’d you tell me your dad runs a gym?” Tobio hissed. “Wait, if your dad is Bokuto Koutarou, how come you suck so much?”

“Uh, because he _does_ run a gym? He opened it in Sendai after retiring. And hey! I take offense to that! I didn’t start playing until middle school and used to not like asking him for hel—ahhhh, never mind. It’s a long story. Besides,” Hinata suddenly leaned in far too close and personal and _why the hell did Tobio’s heart just start racing_. “You just want Dad’s autograph now, doncha? Well too bad, ‘cause you’re not getting it!”

“What the hell are you—”

“ _Kageyama-kun,_ _I swear if you don’t stop moving I will leave you to bleed to death!_ ”)

After the match, Hinata properly introduced Tobio to the famous Bokuto Koutarou (“My Ace Dad!”) and Akaashi Keiji, his other dad who worked as a senior manga editor for a weekly magazine (“My Manga Dad!”). In return, Tobio let Hinata meet Iwaizumi and Ushijima (“Why were you so mad about me not telling you about my dad when you know _the_ legendary Ushiwaka?!”). And then, in perhaps the biggest twist of his life, Tobio was shocked to learn that his neighbors already knew Hinata’s parents and were actually _friends_ with them (“ _WHAT_?”).

Apparently, they were all in high school at the same time and competed against each other regularly (or at least Ushijima did, since Iwaizumi never went to a national tournament and Bokuto and Akaashi were from a different prefecture). Ushijima and Bokuto played on rival professional teams but also happened to be an incredible ace duo for Japan—a fact that had slipped Tobio’s mind even though he should have connected the dots a long time ago. But the connections didn’t stop there, because on top of all that, Iwaizumi used to be neighbors with Bokuto and Akaashi when they were all living in Tokyo at some point. What’s more, Iwaizumi actually used to help out with Hinata a long time ago when the latter was just a baby (hence why he refers to him as “Shouyou”), and Ushijima even met young Hinata a few times, too.

To say Tobio had gone home overwhelmed by all the new information would have been the biggest understatement of the century. Iwaizumi had taken one look at his dead expression and laughed. “The world’s a lot smaller than you initially thought, isn’t it?” He’d commented.

“It sure is,” Tobio had wearily agreed.

Since that day, Bokuto and Iwaizumi could be found at every single one of Karasuno’s matches to cheer on their disciples. Whenever Hinata nails a satisfying spike or digs a particularly tricky receive, Bokuto’s infectious voice would resound throughout the entire gym. Iwaizumi isn’t much of a cheering type, but Tobio hears him shouting triumphantly every now and then when he pulls off an unconventional set or serves an ace. Akaashi and Ushijima have busier schedules, with the former having to go back to Tokyo every other week for work and the latter being on the coaching staff for the Adlers, but they show up whenever they can, even if it’s just for the last few points of the final set. Tobio’s fairly well acquainted with Bokuto and Akaashi now, but this is still his first time at Hinata’s house and seeing Akaashi in casual, loose-fitting, stay-at-home clothes.

Akaashi slides a mug of tea over to Tobio as he takes a seat across from him. “I’m sorry about Shouyou dragging you all the way here,” he chuckles, sleepy eyes fond as he traces the handle of his mug with owls painted on the sides. “He comes up with wild ideas and tends to act on impulse, but he always means well.”

“I know he does,” Tobio responds a bit too eagerly. He flushes when Akaashi shoots him a knowing look and hastily says, “He’s dumb and sucks at volleyball, but he always finds a way so I trust him.”

“I see,” Akaashi nods, lips twitching as he fights to keep a smile off his face—a telltale sign that Tobio’s just incriminated himself. Thankfully, he’s nice enough to spare Tobio from any further embarrassment and future slip-ups and swiftly changes the subject. “So, Tokyo training camps, huh? That really takes me back.”

Grateful for the lifeline, Tobio perks up and goes along with it. “You went to Fukurodani, right? I heard you almost won Nationals with Bokuto-san.”

Akaashi nods. “We placed second during Koutarou’s last year. Obviously we wanted to be first, but it is what it is. It’s nice to see Fukurodani continuing to do well, especially since a lot of the other major powerhouses have shifted a lot since my day.”

“Really?” Tobio leans forward in interest. “Has it really changed that much?”

“Not too much,” Akaashi shrugs. “But some of big names from thirty years ago are struggling now. Shiratorizawa used to be the undisputed champions of Miyagi, but they haven’t been the same since Ushijima-san graduated and Coach Washijou retired. Itachiyama were strong, then they regressed, but now they’re easily one of the best again. Oh, and Inarizaki used to be completely unknown, but they’ve become so dominant in the last decade.”

At the mention of Inarizaki, Tobio can’t help but scowl. “The Miya twins,” he grumbles, shuddering at the memories of Miya Atsumu’s dramatic serve, colorful language, smarmy eyes, thick accent, and the mere idea of Miya Atsumu as a living, breathing, human being who had the audacity to point at another setter’s partner and vow, _I’ll toss to ya one day_.

Akaashi just laughs when Tobio’s disgruntled scowl intensifies. “Yeah, that Miya Atsumu is probably the most extra setter I’ve ever seen. You should’ve seen Iwaizumi-san defending your honor in the crowd—all ‘Tobio’s a better server!’ this, ‘Tobio’s sets are more precise!’ that. He was going on and on about how you were better in every single way and how ‘that blonde brat better stop being so arrogant’. I didn’t dare say this out loud, but I found it kind of funny how Iwaizumi-san was giving Miya-kun hell for his antics when he used to have to deal with worse whenever Oikawa would—”

All of a sudden, Akaashi clamps a hand over his mouth and blanches so rapidly he nearly falls from his chair. Tobio moves to get up and ask if he needs any help, but then he too is rendered frozen when the reason Akaashi freaked out dawns on him.

“Oikawa?” He echoes in a stunned whisper, too afraid to say the name too loudly.

Shakily, Akaashi lowers his hand from his face and shoots Tobio a frazzled wince. “Kageyama-kun,” he says, voice shaky. “I think, for all of our sakes, it would be better to ignore what I just said. It was just a slip of the tongue, that’s all. Nothing to be concerned about.”

Tobio, however, can spot a half-assed white lie a mile away. “No,” he slowly shakes his head as, just like the night before, his mind races to solve the puzzle before he loses perhaps his only opportunity. “Who’s Oikawa? Iwaizumi-san’s never mentioned an Oikawa before, but you made it sound like he’s someone important. Is he the one in the pictures? Tooru? Is his name Oikawa Too—”

“ _Kageyama-kun_ ,” Akaashi, no longer pale or spooked, stares him down with stern blue eyes. Tobio feels his mouth involuntarily slam shut at the clear warning in Akaashi’s tone and grave expression, dread pooling in his stomach as he realizes he’s just crossed another line.

Akaashi huffs out a sigh, shoulders hunched with exhaustion. “I think,” he says in a heavy, melancholic voice. “I think it’s very nice that you’re so close to Iwaizumi-san, and you clearly care a lot about him. But,” Akaashi’s eyes soften just a bit. “There are just some things that are better left in the past, Kageyama-kun. Do you understand?”

 _How am I supposed to understand?_ What _am I supposed to understand?_ “Yes,” he swallows.

Akaashi seems as if he wants to say more and Tobio has a mountain’s worth of questions he’s dying to ask, but the sound of Hinata’s footsteps thumping down the stairs put a decisive end to the conversation for them.

By the time Bokuto drops him off at home (“Tell Iwa and Ushiwaka we need to have an arm wrestling tournament again!”), it’s almost ten o’clock and pitch dark. A quick, cursory glance to the house next door and its lack of light filtering through the windows tells him that Iwaizumi and Ushijima are already asleep like the old men they are, so Tobio saves Bokuto’s request for another time and trudges up the front steps to his own house.

 _Oikawa_ , he ponders as he locks the door behind him and slips out of his shoes. He’d barely been able to concentrate during the study session, too busy hiding the urge to pester Akaashi for answers. _Oikawa…Tooru? Oikawa Tooru. He has to be the one Iwaizumi-san’s always talking about._

Tobio squeezes his eyes shut to try and visualize the photos hanging on the wall.In most of the moments from when they were teenagers, the two wore white and teal Aoba Johsai jerseys. He remembers Iwaizumi saying that he used to be the ace, which means he wore the number four jersey. The guy with the fancy hair— _Oikawa Tooru_ —had a number in the single digits too, but what was it again? One? So he was the captain? Iwaizumi also mentioned that he was vice captain in high school, which means they didn’t just grow up together but led the team together, too. But what position did Oikawa play? He looks taller than Iwaizumi, so perhaps middle blocker? What kind of player was he? Seijoh is a powerhouse, so Oikawa must have been really good to make captain. But Akaashi also made it sound like he’s similar to Miya Atsumu in terms of being a bit of a jackass, like he was someone who constantly gave Iwaizumi a hard time.

Akaashi’s words also implied that something bad happened to or relating to Oikawa. Something bad enough for Iwaizumi to never mention his name and cry when he saw a birthday note from over thirty years ago. Just _what_ exactly happened, Tobio doesn’t know—and in all honesty, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have a right to know the answer, either.

But that doesn’t stop him from wanting to find out.

Just as he makes his way to the kitchen to put away the bag of snacks Akaashi and Bokuto had shoved into his arms (“You’re already tall, but growing boys need to eat as much as they can,” Akaashi had winked), the lights in the living room flick on, startling him so badly the snacks crash to the floor.

“Well, well, well, look who finally decided to show up,” Miwa smirks from her perch on the couch, clad in her pajamas and in the midst of applying a face mask.

Tobio squints at her. “Have you just been sitting in the dark waiting for me?” He flatly inquires.

“Minor details,” Miwa flippantly waves her hand. The face mask makes her look like a drippy white ghoul, but Tobio’s learned the hard way not to insult his sister. Once she’s deemed the mask significantly patted down, she adds, “Besides, I came home hours ago excited to see my baby brother, only to find the house empty. At first I thought you were just over at Iwaizumi’s, but when I went over to check he said he hadn’t seen you all day. Imagine how worried I was, Tobio. What do you have to say for yourself, huh?”

“I was studying at a friend’s,” Tobio rolls his eyes as he shoves the bag of snacks into a cabinet, too lazy to sort through and organize them.

Miwa guffaws. “You, studying? Is the world ending?”

Tobio shoots her his blankest, most serious expression. “It will be if I fail finals and can’t go to Tokyo for training,” he deadpans.

“Ahh,” she grins. “No wonder you’re so motivated. I’d offer my help, but that’s a bad idea for both of us.”

“Like I’d ever ask you.”

Miwa doesn’t even bother dignifying that with a response. She pats the seat on the couch next to her and, with a devious, shit-eating grin to rival Tsukishima’s, coos, “Now come here and give your big sister a hug, _Tobio-chan_.”

“Gross,” he rolls his eyes again but plops down next to her anyway. He does, however, make a point to dodge her attempts to glomp him. “Not when you have that stuff on your face,” Tobio glares.

“Alright, alright,” Miwa laughs, holding her arms up in surrender. “How are you doing, anyway? It’s been almost a week since I’ve last seen you. Oh! I watched a livestream of your match yesterday, but I’m sure you’ve already discussed it with the others so we don’t have to talk about that if you don’t want to.”

For the nth time that day, Tobio’s eye twitches at yet another mention of Karasuno’s loss. He’d overheard plenty of classmates lamenting how the team had been so close yet so far to making it to two national tournaments in a row, but then they all took one look at his stony death stare and immediately shut up. Tobio would like to believe that he’s over the loss, but he knows himself well enough to accept that he’ll be salty for at least a few more days. Thankfully Miwa’s had years of experience in dealing with his ups and downs, because Tobio really does not need another sympathetic pep talk right now.

Miwa interprets his silence as the green light to change the subject, so she launches into a (most likely exaggerated) recount of her adventures in Hokkaido, where she’d just been called to do hair and makeup on a film set. Tobio’s only half listening to her stories about the cows and flowers and ice cream and the attractive actor who gave her his number (except she politely turned him down because she was more interested in the female lead). Despite their seven year age gap and conflicting schedules, he’s always liked spending time with his sister. Miwa may not have been able to fulfill the parental guardian role like their parents expected, but she does her best and Tobio’s never blamed her for being gone. Times like these when they can just relax in the living room after a long day and talk about how they’re doing is more than enough for him.

“—should’ve seen all those colors, Tobio! Just so much pink and orange and purple and red stretching on forever! I wish we could plant flowers like those in the yard, but they’d probably just die under our care. And the cream! It really is something else when you try Hokkaido cream in Hokkaido, I swear. Next time I go somewhere cool you should totally tag along so you can see things for yourself.”

“Only if it doesn’t interfere with volleyball,” Tobio adamantly huffs.

Miwa chuckles. She probably should’ve taken her face mask off about ten minutes ago, but she’s been so absorbed in talking about her trip that Tobio doesn’t have the heart to interrupt her (and yes, it’s also because he kind of wants to mess with her. Just a little). “Yes, yes, I know. How could I ever take the number one volleyball idiot away from his precious sport?” She chuckles, giving him a teasing flick on the forehead for good measure. “No wonder you’d rather hang out with Iwaizumi-san than me; volleyball nuts really do gravitate towards each other.”

At the mention of Iwaizumi, Tobio stiffens. It suddenly occurs to him that while he’s clueless about Iwaizumi’s past and this mysterious Oikawa Tooru, perhaps Miwa isn’t. She’s significantly older and better with people than he is, after all, so maybe she’s picked up on something over the years.

“Say, Nee-san…” He starts, only to trail off when his stomach inexplicably feels queasy.

“Mmm? What?” Miwa mumbles distractedly. “Ah shit, I should’ve taken this thing off ages ago,” she groans, finally peeling her face mask off after wearing it for twice as long as instructed.

A voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Akaashi’s warns him not to keep digging, but Tobio drowns it out along with all the other warning bells going off in his mind. Nervously, he wets his lips and musters up the courage to ask, “Do you know anything about an Oikawa Tooru?”

The face mask hits the floor with a _splat!_

Tobio grips the fabric of his sleeves. _Ah._

Miwa doesn’t move to pick up her fallen mask, just stares at where it lies in a damp pile on the wooden floorboards. “How much do you know?” She demands so quietly he would’ve thought he were imagining it if he didn’t see her lips moving.

“Not much,” he admits with a shrug. “I’m pretty sure he’s Iwaizumi-san’s childhood friend. The one with him in those pictures. And I think something bad happened, but I don’t know what. Nobody seems to want to talk about it.”

“Oh,” Miwa exhales. Slowly, she leans over and carefully plucks the used mask off the floor, not quite able to meet Tobio’s eyes the entire time. “I see. So barely anything, then. Good. It should stay that way.”

Tobio frowns. “Why? What do _you_ know? How did you even find out, anyway?” He interrogates in spite of the ever multiplying red flags. If even Miwa’s spooked, then whatever went down must have been bad indeed.

She still won’t meet his eyes as she mutters, “I wasn’t supposed to find out either, okay? I just overheard his parents talking to Mom and Dad about it once, then I got curious so I did some snooping around.”

Tobio nearly jumps out of his skin when long, manicured fingernails suddenly dig into his shoulder. Miwa’s unblinking gaze is fixed on the coffee table and her other hand clenches into a fist in her lap, squeezing the used mask so hard moisture drips onto her shorts. “Tobio,” she starts, tone darker than anything he’s ever heard before. “Because I know you won’t be satisfied unless you get some kind of answer, I’m going to tell you a little bit of what I found out. After that, you’re not getting another word out of me. And believe me, once you hear what I have to say, you won’t want to know more. Deal?”

Dread pools in his stomach. “Deal,” he agrees, sucking in a sharp breath.

Miwa’s grip slackens, but she doesn’t move her hand from where it rests on his shoulder. “Yes, Oikawa Tooru is the boy in the pictures,” she confirms. “And as I’m sure you can already tell, he’s Iwaizumi-san’s childhood best friend.”

“I didn’t know his name until that time I overheard Mom and Dad talking to Iwaizumi-san’s parents. They were talking super quietly, which I guessed meant it had to be about something important. I couldn’t make out much, but they kept saying his name so many times and mentioned how devastated Iwaizumi-san was about something that had to do with him. So I took matters into my own hands and Googled Oikawa Tooru.”

A thin, wry smile clouds Miwa’s face as she shakes her head. “I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw that the top result was for Oikawa Tooru, former professional volleyball player _._ ”

“A former pro?” Tobio exclaims in disbelief, head swimming as even more pieces are added to the puzzle. “What position? Who did he play for? Why haven’t I heard of him before?”

Miwa flicks him again for interrupting. “Setter, I think? As for why you haven’t heard of him, it’s because he played in a foreign league and…well, he got called up to play for Japan but was forced to quit a little before the Olympics because of an injury or something. He was super young when he retired too, which just sucks.”

“But on top of being a pro, he was also Iwaizumi-san’s fiancé.”

If Tobio’s head were swimming before, there’s got to be an entire fucking tsunami raging in his skull with all these new revelations being thrown at him left and right. _Pro. Setter. Olympics. Injury. Retired. Fiancé._ Never in his life did Tobio expect the boy clinging to Iwaizumi to be any of those things, much less all of them. He’d assumed this whole time that Iwaizumi and Oikawa Tooru were just extremely close childhood friends—perhaps it should’ve been obvious that they were more than just friends, but in Tobio’s defense, Iwaizumi has always been very candid about his exes and former flings. Him choosing not to mention that he was engaged only deepened Tobio’s suspicions that something unspeakably bad must happened.

A thought suddenly occurs to him that doesn’t match up with Miwa’s findings. “Wait,” Tobio furrows his brow. “You said he _was_ Iwaizumi-san’s fiancé? But Iwaizumi-san’s been with Ushijima-san for what, almost eight years now? So…”

Miwa’s already tense smile thins to a morbid line. Her gaze finally slides over to lock eyes with him as she quietly says, “All I can tell you is that it wasn’t a breakup, Tobio.”

_Oh._

He’s smart enough to know what that means.

“See what I mean when I said you wouldn’t want to know more?” Miwa chuckles mirthlessly. A heavy sigh escapes her as she pushes herself to her feet and wanders into the kitchen to toss the mask in the trash. She returns with two boxes of milk and offers one to Tobio, who accepts it gratefully even though it’s likely not wise to drink milk this late at night.

Miwa stabs the straw with so much force that a few droplets spill out from the top of the box. “I never should’ve looked it up,” she states through gritted teeth. “It wasn’t any of my business and still isn’t. Hell, I feel downright _slimy_ for finding out so much when Iwaizumi-san doesn’t have a clue I know. I couldn’t face him for weeks after that because I felt so guilty. He’s been nothing but caring to us since we were kids and there I was, some stupid teenager going behind his back to uncover dirt from his past.”

“That bad?” Tobio asks, the unease in his gut twisting more violently than before.

“That bad,” Miwa concurs. “And if there’s one piece of advice you’ll ever take from me, it’s this: Don’t Google Oikawa Tooru, Tobio. Just don’t. For your own sanity and out of respect for Iwaizumi-san, leave what happened in the past. Please?”

Tobio just studies his half-empty milk box.

Orange and brown flood his vision, paired with the peculiar sensation of something soft brushing against the few exposed portions of his forehead. “Wow, your face is even scarier than usual,” Hinata marvels, far too loud and far too close.

Tobio’s breath hitches involuntarily. “So?” He growls defensively, privately wondering if Hinata’s this up close and personal with others or if he’s a special case.

“I dunno, can’t you change it or something? You’re gonna scare the first years if you show up to practice like that,” Hinata pokes fun at him.

“I was born with this face! How am I supposed to change it?” Tobio cries out in indignation.

Hinata just laughs, the sound high-pitched and brimming with energy and _he really is way too close_. Tobio bolts upright into a standing position so Hinata can’t reach his face anymore and jerks his chin to the side as he grumbles, “Didn’t Tanaka-san tell us to unlock the gym today?”

“Oh, right! Gimme a sec so I can grab the keys—but don’t go ahead without me! Don’t even think about getting a head start, Kageyama,” Hinata warns, pointing two fingers at his own eyes and then at Tobio’s as if to say, _I’m watching you!_

“Like I need one,” Tobio scoffs, watching as Hinata scampers away, orange hair bouncing with each step.

Tobio lets out a breath when Hinata disappears from sight and collapses back to his seat on the bench. The third years said they’re going to be a little late today because they’ve got to do extra cramming for their exams, so it’s up to the second years to run practice. Yachi said she could help him and Hinata out today (“By the way, what did Yamaguchi want to tell you yesterday?” Hinata questioned, to which Yachi immediately flushed pink and stammered out some unintelligible excuse. Oddly enough, Yamaguchi reacted the same way when they interrogated him later, too), so they were crashing at her apartment for a bit after. Then he’d have to rush home for dinner with Miwa and Iwaizumi. Hopefully Ushijima would be home early too so Tobio could wheedle him into helping with extra practice.

Although, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to face Ushijima without giving anything away. Tobio’s obeyed Miwa so far by refraining from looking anything up—partially because he doesn’t know if he actually wants the answers after all, mostly because the last thing he wants to do is disrespect Iwaizumi—but that doesn’t mean he’s let the matter go. If he had a hundred questions yesterday, he has over a million today pertaining to the mystery of Oikawa Tooru.

Oikawa was engaged to Iwaizumi, but now he’s out of the picture and the latter’s been with Ushijima for the better part of a decade. A breakup would have been the logical explanation, but since Miwa confirmed that that wasn’t the reason…

Tobio doesn’t want to go there.

Well, he supposes he already has enough going on in his life. First he’s got to study hard pard and pass his finals so he can go to Tokyo and improve his volleyball, then he has the Spring Interhigh qualifiers in October to worry about. Assuming they win, their next mountain to climb is Nationals in January. Additionally, he needs to play well enough that he gets invited back to U-19 training in December.

(And maybe, just maybe, on top of all that, he needs to figure out what he expects to happen between him and the orange bane of his existence)

So, yeah. Tobio’s hands are full as it is. He knows better than to snoop around against Miwa and Akaashi’s warnings and it’s not like he has the time to conduct a thorough investigation, either. Besides, Iwaizumi must be over whatever happened, right? He seems perfectly happy with Ushijima—they’re not a particularly touchy or obvious couple, but they work well together in the way they quietly support and stand by each other—so what’s the point in reminding him of his former fiancé all these years later? There’s obviously no need for Tobio to interfere.

With his mind made up, Tobio squints in the general direction of the volleyball clubroom to see if Hinata’s on his way back yet. Unfortunately there’s no orange blob to be seen, so he huffs and gets back on his feet, figuring he’ll teach that pipsqueak a lesson for taking too long. In the midst of contemplating whether to wait outside the clubroom and treat Hinata to a jump scare or to take that (unneeded) head start, a girl glides past him.

Normally he wouldn’t think twice if someone walked near him, but his ears prick at the sound of something landing on cement. A large black pen with gold lettering rolls on the pavement, coming to a halt when it hits the sole of his volleyball shoe. Tobio glances up to see if the girl noticed, but she keeps walking without looking back.

Hastily, he picks up the pen and lurches to his feet. “Excuse me,” he calls, internally wincing at how awkward and gruff he sounds. The girl pauses, then turns around very slowly, apprehension in her stance as she expectantly raises a brow.

Tobio coughs, hoping he looks as nonthreatening as possible. Animals already don’t like him; the last thing he needs is for people to fear him too. “I, um, think you dropped this?”

Relief washes over the girl’s face—she must have eliminated the idea of him as a possible threat. “Oh. Thank you,” she dips her head in thanks as she gratefully accepts her pen back. Her voice is soft and even, not exactly emotionless but definitely hard to decipher.

Tobio’s never been particularly interested in girls (Iwaizumi once joked that his head only has room for volleyball and something else Tobio didn’t catch but sounded suspiciously like “orange hair”), but he’s not completely oblivious; he knows when a girl is considered attractive. Yachi, for one, is infamous as “Karasuno’s cute manager”. Tanaka Saeko has all the boys looking at her whenever she shows up to cheer her brother on, and Tobio’s even heard (although he wishes he hadn’t) his teammates refer to Miwa as his “hot sister” (he wanted the ground to open up under his feet and drag him six feet under when that happened).

This girl is extremely pretty, too—so much so that even a volleyball idiot like Tobio can’t help but blush. Silky black hair frames a classically attractive face with dark eyes peering at him from behind pink-rimmed glasses. She’s wearing the Karasuno girls’ uniform, but he would’ve guessed she were a college student from the mature air she gives off. Despite the thick June heat, she has black leggings on that make Tobio grimace at the thought of wearing something so skintight under the Miyagi sun.

He only realizes he’s been staring too long when her smile morphs into a more perplexed, slightly uncomfortable grimace. Hurriedly, he snaps his upper body down to a perfect ninety degree bow and barks out a loud, “No problem!” that echoes in the most humiliating way throughout the courtyard.

If God truly existed, Tobio would love for Him to smack him down with a bolt of lightning right about now.

The girl stares at him in silence with that awkward smile still on her face, then suddenly lets out a hushed giggle. “Why are you bowing when I’m the one thanking you?” She gently points out, covering her smile with a slender hand.

Tobio’s ears burn at the further humiliation. “Right. I don’t know,” he mumbles as he straightens up to his full height. “Sorry.”

He expects the girl to say one last thanks before heading on her way, but to his surprise, she tilts her head back and studies his perpetually gloomy face with aloof black eyes. “Is there something bothering you?” She inquires, brisk and straight to the point.

“Uh,” Tobio pauses, taken aback. Why is a complete stranger asking him that? “Um, no? Do I look like something’s bothering me?”

Her eyes bore into his as she replies with a simple, “Yes, you do.”

The easiest response would be to politely excuse himself and say he has somewhere to be, then forget this odd exchange ever happened. But Tobio’s always been a godawful liar. “Maybe,” he concedes. His eyes dart to the clubroom again, wondering just what on earth is taking Hinata so long.

The girl takes a step back, giving Tobio breathing room he didn’t know he needed until now. “I’m sorry, this might be a weird question,” she smiles apologetically. Absently, she twirls her pen between her delicate fingers. “But if there’s one thing you want most in the world, what would that be?”

The question—as well as this entire encounter— _is_ weird, but the absurdity of it flies over Tobio’s head as he, against his better judgment, actually takes a moment to think it through. _A lot of things_ , he wants to say, because the truth is that there’s so much he selfishly wants when he knows he can’t have it all.

_To be the best setter. To win every game with the team. To make my parents and sister and grandfather proud. To go to Olympics. To play volleyball until the day I die. To never stop tossing to Hinata._

But he doesn’t want to say any of those to this girl because he’d probably sound so trivial, so single-minded. Yes, he wants to be the greatest volleyball player and a good son and for all his dreams to come true—but that’s not all he wants.

He thinks of framed photos lining a wall in chronological order. Of patient hands demonstrating how to set and bump and spike. Of evenings spent watching volleyball over homemade dinners. Of uncovering a relic from the past that should have stayed buried. Of Akaashi’s pale, guilt-stricken face. Of Miwa’s nails digging into his shoulder as she begs him to make a promise.

Most of all, he thinks of a hunched over back and puffy red eyes that evoke another selfish wish.

_To never see Iwaizumi-san cry again._

“I want everyone to be okay,” he settles for at last—because while it may be vague, it’s the only way he can express just how much he wants.

The girl blinks, taking another step back with astonishment written all over her face. Tobio’s once again overcome with the very intense desire to run before he can embarrass himself further, but then the girl’s mouth forms another small, seemingly satisfied grin.

“I see,” she says. “I see.”

Before Tobio can ask what exactly it is she sees or make a run for it because he’s officially starting to get a little creeped out, the girl slinks back a few paces and gracefully spins away from him. “Sorry for taking up your time,” she hums lightly. “I’ll be on my way now, since I’m sure you have things to do. But one more thing.”

She pauses to glance over her shoulder and offers him one last, close-mouthed smile. “If you ever find a red-eyed owl in Tokyo, make sure you offer it something to eat, okay?”

 _What_ , a thoroughly flabbergasted Tobio stares blankly back at her, _the hell is she talking about?_

“KAGEYAMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

Tobio whips his head around to witness something orange streaking past him in a blur, followed by a taunting screech of, “Whoever loses has to buy ice pops!”

“Dumbass!” Tobio curses at the top of his lungs. At the rate Hinata’s flying paired with his ridiculously unfair head start, he’ll reach the gym before his competitor’s taken five steps. Resigned, Tobio accepts his fate and settles for petulantly kicking up a pile of dirt before remembering what he was doing before Hinata interrupted.

When he turns around though, the girl is already gone. The courtyard is barren except for a single crow he hadn’t noticed earlier preening its shiny black feathers a few feet away. The crow jerks its head up to cast him a brief yet unnerving glance, then spreads its wings and flies away, inky feathers sleek as silk.

**Amagasaki, two years prior**

Cold rain falls unforgivingly, drenching poor, unlucky fools down to their bones. No one in their right mind would be outside when the skies are a stormy gray whirlpool and ominous thunder crackles every few seconds—and indeed, every sane person immediately rushes to take shelter in the closest store or duck under the safety of a bus stop.

One boy, however, doesn’t even notice the rain. Under the cover of a small red shrine hidden amongst trees, his eyes only see the man standing before him.

“Are you a god?” The boy whispers, breathless at the sight of narrow yellow eyes framed by artful lines of black.

The narrow-eyed man—or maybe he’s just a boy, too—twists his lips into a lazy grin. “Flattering,” he drawls, tilting his head back to stare at the sea of gray overhead. “But I am no god.”

Another bolt of lightning flashes through the clouds. “Then what are ya? _Who_ are ya?” The boy insists, desperation in his clumsy movements as he reaches out to grasp the man by the wrist.

“I’m no one worth remembering,” the other shakes his head, words nearly drowned out by thunder. A flicker of something akin to mourning passes through his eyes as he pulls his arm away from pleading hands. He leans closer until only a centimeter separates their faces and whispers, “So hurry up and forget about me already, Osamu.”

The last thing Osamu sees before a pale hand covers his face is a single shining tear escaping from a yellow eye.

Or perhaps it was just the rain.


	2. Chapter 2

**Miyagi Prefecture, July**

The darkest day of Kageyama Tobio’s life begins fairly normally for his standards.

He wakes up to an empty house because Miwa is, as usual, dragged out to work on a set somewhere far away. After getting dressed and double checking his volleyball bag, he stops by the house next door to mooch breakfast from his favorite neighbor. Iwaizumi and Ushijima, huddled with their heads close reading a newspaper together over coffee, don’t even bat an eye when Tobio barges in and sits himself down in front of the steaming hot plate that’s been waiting for him.

“Looks like it’s gonna rain tonight,” Iwaizumi clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Take my umbrella since I’m not working today.”

Ushijima swallows his mouthful of coffee. “Thank you,” he hums appreciatively, eyes still skimming the sports section. “Ah, look. Rumors say the Raijins have verbally agreed on terms for that young rookie from Hiroshima. He would be a most interesting addition to their team.”

“I thought you guys were trying to swoop him up too?” Iwaizumi furrows his brow in concern. Without tearing his gaze away from his partner, he grabs a milk box from the counter and tosses it to Tobio, who catches it effortlessly.

“Indeed,” Ushijima sighs—or, as Tobio likes to personally pen it but would never say it to the stoic man’s face, the Ushijima version of _dishonor on your cow!_ —and sets the newspaper down as he opened the fridge. “But there’s plenty of young talent, so I suppose it’s not too much of a loss.”

Iwaizumi snags both of the empty mugs and places them in the sink. “Yeah, that’s true. Besides, the Raijins aren’t as big of a threat as the Falcons or Jackals.”

“That’s right. The other day one of my players remarked that no matter how fast the team improves, the Jackals are always hot on their heels. It would be unlucky for us if they buy another wing spiker. Speaking of which, I need to stop by Bokuto’s gym to discuss a training regimen with him, so I’ll be heading out now.”

“Mmm. Don’t forget the umbrella.”

“Ah, thank you for the reminder.”

On his way out, Ushijima sets a neatly wrapped bento next to Tobio, who’s in the midst of stuffing his face with toast. “Make sure you eat everything. It’s important for teenage boys to eat lots and grow strong,” he instructs, face stony and imposing as ever.

Tobio, having known him long enough to recognize when there’s genuine care laced underneath Ushijima’s serious monotone, quickly bows his head in appreciation. “Yes, Ushijima-san. Understood,” he thanks.

“He got up an hour early just to make that for you, so you’d better stick to your word!” Iwaizumi cheekily calls out as he slides into the seat next to Tobio.

“Oh, you did?” Tobio blinks, surprised. Ushijima was more than nice to him, sure, but as far as he can remember, it’s always been Iwaizumi making his lunches. He can count the number of times he’s seen Ushijima cook on one hand.

He’s also never seen the man blush or appear remotely flustered, so imagine his surprise when the faintest pink shade colors Ushijima’s ears. “Ah, well,” Ushijima awkwardly clears his throat and averts his eyes. “I figured I’d do something nice. To wish you luck.”

“Luck? What do you mean?” Tobio quirks his brow as he stuffs another mouthful of eggs into his mouth.

Ushijima tilts his head, perplexed. “Didn’t you say your exam results come back today?”

The eggs immediately go down the wrong pipe.

“YOU FAILED _AGAIN_?” Yachi screeches at the top of her tiny lungs. Tears threaten to spill from her eyes as she stares at the test paper in bewilderment, shaking so hard a concerned Yamaguchi has to hold her by the elbow to provide support.

Tobio hangs his head in remorse. “I’m sorry,” he bleats like a broken record. “I’m so sorry, Yachi-san.”

Beside him, Tsukishima snickers. “So close yet so far,” he taunts, eyes filled with so much smugness Tobio’s hands itch to sock him across the face.

Hinata pokes his head over Yachi’s shoulder to take a look at the dreaded exam. “Ahhh, you barely missed out,” he remarks, wincing in sympathy. “You just needed one more point on the reading comprehension part, damn.”

“That’s what we spent the most time reviewing,” Yachi mournfully recounts, lower lip trembling. “I can’t believe I failed you again. How can I be a reliable friend if I only let you down?”

Alarmed, Yamaguchi reaches to steady her by the shoulders. “Yachi-san, this wasn’t your doing!” He insists and _is that a blush on his face or did he just suddenly acquire a very intense sun burn?_

Whatever it is, Tobio doesn’t have the time to analyze because at the moment, Yamaguchi is shooting him a pointed look with a very clear message. Without missing a beat, Tobio collapses to his knees and bows to Yachi in the middle of the crowded hallway and bemoans, “It’s my fault, Yachi-san— _I’m_ the one who failed you. I’ll work harder next time, I promise.”

“Kageyama-kun! There’s no need to get on the floor!” She yelps, hurriedly ushering him back to his feet and shooting apologetic smiles to the bemused students watching the spectacle.

Tsukishima languidly inspects his nails. “Actually, I think he should stay like that for another ten minutes. It’s what he gets for being the only one to fail.”

Tobio jerks his head up. “The only one?” He exclaims. Reflexively, he grabs Hinata by the collar and shakes the smaller boy as hard as he can. “You mean an idiot like you actually passed all your subjects?” He demands, infuriated.

Hinata just sticks out his tongue and flashes a peace sign.

Disbelief strikes Tobio like a jolt of electricity. His grip slackens, causing Hinata to unceremoniously fall on his butt. Tsukishima, that asshole, won’t stop laughing at the idiotic duo in front of him, while Yamaguchi appears torn between laughing with him and comforting the still broken girl he’s got an arm wrapped around ( _wait, when did that happen?_ ).

Tobio used to scoff when he’d watch cartoons and someone’s spirit would be shown leaving his/her body. _What does that even mean?_ He used to frown, because how could someone’s soul leave them unless they were dead? Iwaizumi doubled over in laughter when he brought that up, while Ushijima stared him dead in the eye and responded with a simple, “Because it’s fiction.”

Now, though, he thinks he can understand the feeling perfectly well. Because the dark, sinking feeling of shame at being the only one to fail an exam when even Hinata of all people passed his is more than enough to make Tobio feel like his spirit is departing him with each passing second.

Hinata enthusiastically thumps him on the back—a gesture that is undoubtedly meant to be reassuring, but only kills Tobio a bit more because Hinata hits the exact same spot Iwaizumi and Ushijima had thumped earlier with their extremely ripped arms in an attempt to dislodge the eggs in his windpipe—and says, “Hey, don’t worry, Kageyama! Like my dad said, I’m sure you can find someone willing to drive you down after you pass remedial exams. Hey, I bet Saeko-nee’s already prepping for the trip!”

Slowly, his soul inches back into his body. “Yeah,” he agrees, feeling slightly rejuvenated. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll be fine.”

“And then Tanaka-san said his sister is going to be out of town next weekend, so she can’t drive me after all,” Tobio groans in despair.

Iwaizumi ducks his head, but Tobio can still see the grin he’s fighting to keep off his face. “I see,” the older man remarks, trying and failing to keep his voice even. “That’s very unfortunate, kiddo.”

Tobio smacks his head against the table. “The world is ending,” he declares bleakly.

“What?” Ushijima glances up from where he’s cooking soup. He’s wearing this pastel pink apron with cute bunnies printed all over it that Miwa got him as a joke for his last birthday, yet somehow he seems even more intimidating than usual when he puts it on. Frowning, he matter-of-factly states, “The world is far from ending, Tobio-kun.”

“The kid’s just being overdramatic, Waka,” Iwaizumi gently clarifies. Sympathetically—although he’s still struggling not to laugh—he pats Tobio on the shoulder and says, “Cheer up. I’m sure you’ll find a solution. Hell, I’d offer to give you a ride, but unfortunately I’ve got too many appointments that can’t be moved around.”

“That’s okay,” Tobio sighs since he already figured that Iwaizumi would be too busy. “I think Nee-san is coming back a few days before training camp starts so I could just ask her.” Although that’s also a long shot, because for all he knows Miwa’s unpredictable schedule might get extended and he already feels bad at the thought of making his sister drive five hours to Tokyo when she must be tired from traveling.

Iwaizumi gnaws on his lower lip. “I could always ask Hanamaki for a favor? I think you’ve met him once before, Tobio—the guy with the pink hair and deep ass voice? He owes me one and he commutes to Tokyo every now and then anyway.”

Tobio does vaguely remember Hanamaki as a jokester who kept changing jobs and had a penchant for cream puffs. He was pretty cool, actually—very much on the goofy side but still chill overall when he wasn’t getting crushed by Iwaizumi in arm wrestling. Driving to Tokyo didn’t sound too bad, assuming he agreed to it.

Before he can consider the option any further, however, Ushijima’s deep voice resonates through the kitchen as he declares, “I can drive you down, Tobio-kun.”

“Huh?” Tobio exclaims, lifting his head so fast his neck crackles.

Ushijima sets down a bowl of soup in front of him. “I said, I can drive you down,” he calmly repeats, not seeming to notice Tobio’s wide-eyed, awestruck look of disbelief.

Even Iwaizumi raises a brow in surprise. “You can? Don’t you have staff meetings and practice to run?”

“Normally, yes. But that weekend I’m scheduled to go down to Tokyo to interview a potential new hire. Akaashi-kun and Bokuto are carpooling with me since they both have business in the city too. It would be no problem to drop Tobio-kun off while we’re there,” Ushijima explains as he settles in the seat next to Iwaizumi and across from Tobio.

He’s still wearing that pink apron, but he must not notice—or doesn’t care, since Tobio does recall hearing him say before that he doesn’t believe in following masculine stereotypes or succumbing to toxic masculinity despite appearing, well, very stereotypically masculine. Tobio’s always liked that side to him, because underneath Ushijima’s tough and dense demeanor, he’s very intelligent in his own way. Even though Ushijima didn’t enter the picture until eight years ago, Tobio’s spent enough time with him to consider him as another sort of father figure.

Relief washes over him as he clasps his hands together in appreciation. “Thank you, Ushijima-san. I’m sorry for the hassle,” Tobio exhales, feeling like a huge weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

Ushijima’s lips twitch into a rare smile. “No problem. I’d hate for you to miss out on an important training camp. Hajime and I,” he briefly brushes his hand over Iwaizumi’s, “are rooting for you to make it to the top, so do your best, Tobio-kun.”

“What he said,” Iwaizumi chimes in with a fond chuckle. “We’re here for you through thick and thin, kid.”

Heat rushes to Tobio’s cheeks so fast he barely manages to duck his head in time. “T-thank you,” he stumbles over his words, face reddening by the second.

“Hey, what’re you being so shy for?” Iwaizumi teases, poking the top of Tobio’s head with his chopsticks. When Tobio lifts his head, Iwaizumi winks and says, “We’re only being nice now so you’ll take care of us when we’re old geezers. Right, Waka?”

Ushijima’s curt nod and deadpan eyes are so solemn Tobio genuinely believes him for a second when he adds a serious, “Indeed. We will have a wonderful retirement funded by the professional athlete we raised ourselves.”

Tobio stares at him. Even Iwaizumi cracks a smile.

“That was a joke, by the way,” Ushijima continues in that same stoic tone after a small pause. “Please do not feel obligated to burden yourself with taking care of us. I would hate to be a bother in my old age. Use your hard-earned money however you wish.”

After a beat of silence, he carefully warns, “But don’t spend it on any vices. Far too many athletes turn to drinking and women after retirement and end up losing everything.”

Tobio continues to just stare at him, unblinking and unimpressed.

“Ah, but that might not be applicable to you. I’m sorry if you have no such interest in women. Forgive me, that was not very politically correct.”

Another awkward pause.

“I hope I don’t come off as homophobic. Please don’t misunderstand.”

“Wakatoshi,” Iwaizumi finally speaks up. With a perfectly straight face, he rests his hand on Ushijima’s shoulder and bluntly says, “Wakatoshi, we know you’re not homophobic. You’re gay.”

Ushijima coughs once, twice, then a third time for good measure. “Ah,” he slowly nods, an epiphany dawning in his dark eyes. “That’s right. Thank you, Hajime.”

“Yep, no problem,” Iwaizumi hums as he picks up his spoon. “Anyway, let’s dig in.”

Obediently, Tobio and Ushijima follow his example and turn to their soup bowls. For a few minutes, nothing but the sounds of spoons clinking against china and the occasional slurp echo throughout the small dining area. Then Ushijima gets up to grab a drink, but in his haste his hip bumps against the table and jostles the soup bowls, causing Tobio’s to overflow and spill onto his shirt.

Ushijima winces. “Forgive me, Tobio-kun. You can borrow one of our shirts and I’ll wash yours by hand after dinner.”

Tobio looks at the brown stain near the hem of his shirt, then lifts his head to lock eyes with Ushijima. “No problem,” he deadpans.

Another pause, and then laughter erupts in the kitchen. Iwaizumi cackles like a maniac and bangs his fist against the table, face red as a tomato as he loses his mind. Tobio, no longer able to keep up his straight face, clutches his abdomen as he doubles over giggling. Even stone-faced Ushijima can’t help himself as he grips the back of his chair for support and his deep laugh reverberates throughout the room, a nice contrast to the high-pitched hysterics coming from the other two.

“Holy shit,” Iwaizumi wheezes, wiping away the tears in his eyes. “You’re killing us, Waka—absolutely killing us, I swear.”

Ushijima is unable to wipe the small grin off his face as he shakes his head. “Next time you could give me a hand instead of leaving me drowning.”

“Oops, sorry,” Iwaizumi winks unapologetically.

Tobio chooses to keep giggling to himelf instead of contributing to the exchange, more than content with merely watching his neighbors tease each other in their unique ways. It’s been like this for as long as he’s known them—Ushijima with his earnest intentions hidden behind a blunt tone and Iwaizumi with his unexpectedly goofy side contrasting his gruff, rugged appearance. Most people wouldn’t look at the two brawny men and believe they were together, but Tobio’s long since grown accustomed to the simple, relaxed rhythm they have going on. Ushijima helps bring out Iwaizumi’s more childish sides, while Iwaizumi coaxes him into opening up more often. Even though Tobio didn’t meet Ushijima until a few years in to his friendship with Iwaizumi, as far as he’s concerned, the two have been together forever.

(Seeing them together like this makes it impossible for Tobio to believe that Iwaizumi was supposed to marry someone else)

The stain doesn’t fully wash out despite Ushijima’s furious scrubbing, but, Tobio thinks as he glances out the window later and sees his shirt hanging on the laundry line, he doesn’t particularly mind.

**Tokyo, July**

“Look, Keiji! Isn’t that the same guard who was here when we were?”

“Ah, yes. I think it’s him. I’m surprised he’s still working.”

“Should we say hi?”

“Didn’t he chew you out so many times for not properly wearing your uniform?”

“Oh shit, I forgot. Right, let’s just smile and wave and pretend we don’t remember him.”

Akaashi doesn’t bother hiding his smile. “Sure, Koutarou,” he laughs, cheeks tinted pink as he tightens his hold on Bokuto’s sleeve.

The way Akaashi looks at Bokuto is so incredibly fond Tobio physically can’t look at them and has to avert his gaze to the ground. They practically have hearts and little Cupids floating around them as they walk hand in hand down the sidewalk. Every now and then, Akaashi will rest his head on Bokuto’s shoulder for a few seconds, at which point Bokuto sneaks in a lightning quick kiss to his wavy black hair. They’re so disgustingly domestic it should be illegal—a sharp contrast to the couple Tobio spends most of his time around.

Initially, the plan was for Ushijima to drop him off a few blocks away from Fukurodani, the school hosting this summer’s training camp. But then Bokuto and Akaashi, the legendary Fukurodani alumni, realized they had time to kill, so they hopped out too to pay their high school a visit. At first Tobio was grateful because to say he was horrible with directions would be a massive understatement, but little did he know how much of a third wheel he would end up becoming.

In the little over a year he’s known Hinata’s parents, Tobio’s only seen them together a handful of times. Bokuto makes it to every match without fail, but Akaashi’s schedule isn’t as flexible what with his biweekly commute to Tokyo and all. They’re both good friends with Iwaizumi and sometimes drop by the house to pay him a visit, but again, it’s usually only one instead of both who show up. When Tobio went to Hinata’s the other week to study, Bokuto didn’t come home until dinner and Akaashi was dead tired from his Tokyo commute the night before and having to tutor two hopeless pupils.

They’ve always seemed like a nice couple, but Tobio had been massively unprepared for the spectacle awaiting him when Ushijima pulled up at their house earlier that afternoon after picking him up from his remedial exams.

Despite the hour, Akaashi had been a sleepy, bleary-eyed mess as he gracelessly stumbled into the backseat and mumbled out an incoherent greeting before collapsing on his side. Bokuto, on the other hand, was as bright as ever, shooting Ushijima and Tobio his signature dazzling smile ( _Bokuto beeeeeam!_ Tobio’s brain helpfully supplied. He used to religiously study videos of Bokuto and Ushijima’s double ace teamwork; sue him).

“Keiji’s pretty much nocturnal like a real owl,” he’d explained with a laugh as he coaxed Akaashi into an upright position—only for the latter to instantly slump over and nestle his head in Bokuto’s lap.

Ushijima, noticing Tobio’s wide-eyed ogling of the couple, sympathetically said, “You get used to it after a while, Tobio-kun. They’re always like that.”

 _They are_? Tobio mouthed back quizzically.

Apparently so. Throughout the duration of the ride, Akaashi barely stirred and napped comfortably on his husband’s lap. Tobio thought Bokuto would probably make conversation the entire time, but to his surprise, Bokuto only spoke occasionally to help Ushijima with directions and spent most of his time watching videos with his phone in one hand while stroking Akaashi’s hair with the other—a far cry from the Bokuto Tobio’s met before, and an ever bigger contrast from the pro athlete Bokuto he grew up watching.

His grandfather used to be very fond of the way Bokuto played before his shock early retirement. “He’s just enjoying himself,” Kazuyo would remark when Bokuto cartwheeled across the court or got the crowd to clap for him. “It’s very refreshing to see someone of his skill level be so self-assured.”

Bokuto certainly had buckets of confidence, that’s for sure. He could be a bit flamboyant at times, but no one dared underestimate him once he was in spiking position. Tobio had been trembling when Hinata first introduced them to each other, half-nervous and half-hopeful that Bokuto would talk his ear off. To his surprise, Bokuto simply shook his hand and introduced himself like he wasn’t a former pro athlete—in that moment, he was simply Tobio’s friend’s father. Even his famous horned owl gelled hairstyle wasn’t as conspicuous as it had been ten years ago, and in the past year he’s stopped styling it and instead lets his hair flop naturally.

This floppy-haired, not too boisterous, doting husband isn’t quite what Tobio expected, but Kazuyo’s description of him still holds true: Bokuto is self-assured. He’s carefree without being ignorant, going through his life without paying attention to what others may think of him. He laughs louder than most, cheers on his son with unrivaled passion, and acts all lovey-dovey with Akaashi like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Bokuto’s a happy guy living his best life with his family after retiring early from a career made of the stuff of dreams; how could anyone resent him for that?

“Oi, Kageyama! You’re going the wrong way—the gym’s over here!”

Tobio jerks his head up at Bokuto’s voice. “Oh, right,” he replies lamely when he registers the fact that Bokuto and Akaashi are a good distance away from him and he was, unfortunately, seconds away from walking into a pole. Hastily, he jogs over to the couple before any more near disasters can occur.

Akaashi tilts his head, amused. “I didn’t expect you to be so spacey before training camp,” he teases. “Shouyou kept jumping around last night because he was so excited to see Kenma-kun again he couldn’t sleep. Thought you’d be the same, since you’re just like him.”

“Me? Like him?” Tobio blurts out before his brain-to-mouth filter can catch up. Upon realizing how rude he must sound to his friend’s parents, he flushes and corrects himself with, “I mean, I don’t get as excited as he does. Nobody does.”

“Oh?” Bokuto blinks owlishly. “But I could’ve sworn Iwa told me you were the one who lost your mind when you and Shouyou finally mastered that new move. He said you were bouncing around the yard so recklessly you tripped and faceplanted on the—”

“Let’s not embarrass him too much,” Akaashi interrupts with a chuckle when he sees Tobio’s mortified expression of betrayal (Iwaizumi is dead to him. _Dead. To. Him_ The next time Tobio sees him, it’s on sight _._ Well, maybe not, actually. Iwaizumi has a good fifteen to twenty pounds of muscle on him). “I’m sure Shouyou makes fun of him enough for all of us.”

 _You’re not wrong_ , Tobio wryly thinks. Just that morning, Hinata had sent him a plethora of taunting texts when he was on the team bus and Tobio was suffering through his remedial exams. The next time he sees Hinata, it’s also going to be on sight—for real this time, because he is not above picking on kids smaller than him.

Bokuto lets out a loud exhale as he pushes open the huge doors to the gym—singlehandedly and with ease, because he’s still a buff monster like he was ten years ago—and closes his eyes. “Ahhh, this brings back so many memories. Wanna give me some tosses, Akaashi?” He suggestively wiggles his eyebrows at the last part.

“Koutarou!” Akaashi scolds, blushing as he smacks him on the arm. “Maybe if the kids don’t mind,” he mumbles as an afterthought.

Tobio perks up. “I think it would be nice to have a former pro and Fukurodani’s legendary setter play with us,” he comments innocently.

Akaashi just laughs, shaking his head in denial. “Maybe this one could be helpful,” he playfully jostles Bokuto with his shoulder. “But me? An out of shape manga editor? I think I’m better off making sure you and Shouyou don’t kill each other—or worse, Tsukishima-kun.”

Fair enough. Personally Tobio believes the world would be a better place with one fewer snarky smartass like Tsukishima, but he keeps that thought to himself.

Fukurodani’s a considerably (read: many times) richer school than Karasuno, a fact made obvious by the gym being so huge it holds different courts for each sport rather than a shared one teams have to fight over. Bokuto and Akaashi lead the way down a long, endless hallway, passing by the courts for basketball, futsal, squash, and multiple weight rooms. After what seems like an eternity, Bokuto shoves open another door—again with one hand—and, without warning, bellows, “I’M HOME!” as loudly as humanly possible.

So much for a discrete entrance.

“Oh!” A head of fluffy orange curls pops up from the floor.“Daaaaaaad! What’re you doing here?” Hinata exclaims, scrambling to his feet and launching himself at his parents.

Bokuto catches him with ease and beams. “Hey hey, Shouyou! I’m here to show you kids how to hit a proper spike, what else?”

“What your father means,” Akaashi interjects, lips twitching. “Is that we’re here to drop off some precious cargo.”

“Precious cargo?” Hinata echoes. He fixates on Kageyama, who’s been hiding in the back, and the toothy, ear to ear grin that spread on his face is brighter than Bokuto’s. “Ooh, you’re here earlier than I thought! Good job, Kageyama!”

“Did you think I’d fail my retake too,” Tobio grumbles under his breath.

Hinata puffs out his chest. “Well, anything can happen with you,” he remarks sagely. Clamping a hand down on Tobio’s shoulder, he adds, “Also, we had a bet on how many times it would take for you to pass. Thank you for passing on your first try. I got four thousand yen because of you.”

A weary Yamaguchi trudges up to them. “And I lost money because I underestimated you, Kageyama,” he sighs, torn between being happy that his friend passed and mournful over his lost money. Admittedly Tobio is a bit offended over that, but Yamaguchi is nice and harmless so he’ll give him a pass.

Someone he will most certainly _not_ be giving any passes to, however, saunters past them at that very moment. “Well, well, well. The only flunkee finally decided to show his face,” Tsukishima drawls as he towels off his sweaty hair.

“I hope you lost money,” Tobio retorts in lieu of a proper greeting.

Tsukishima leers at him. “Believe it or not, I had enough faith in you to bet you’d pass in one try. Thanks for winning me money, King.”

“Oh, Kageyama’s here?” Ennoshita’s voice reaches the group of second years. The captain jogs towards them with a tired smile, throwing an arm around Tobio’s shoulders as he catches his breath.

The red flags rise along with the hairs on his arms at Ennoshita’s close-eyed, eerily pleasant smile. In the blink of an eye, Hinata, Yamaguchi, and Tsukishima all disappear, speedwalking away as fast as they can whilst whistling in the most suspicious way. Even Bokuto and Akaashi are gone, having wandered over the Fukurodani team long ago. Bokuto’s enthusiastically chest-bumping the aging coach while Akaashi politely greets the starstruck players, and oh how Tobio wishes he could be one of those innocent Fukurodani boys instead of being trapped under his captain’s domineering aura.

Ennoshita maintains his squirm-inducing pleasantry as he steers Tobio out the gym and towards what he presumes to be a changing room. “Glad you could make it, Kageyama. Go get changed and do some light warm ups when you come back. We have a break before our next set, so take your time. Make sure you go greet Coach Yamiji to thank him for Fukurodani’s hospitality and apologize for being late. Oh, and before you can play a set, do six flying laps so you’ll have caught up with the rest of us. Sounds good?”

The ominous words _six flying laps_ douse any flickering flames of hope. Nervously, Tobio gulps and dares to ask, “You, um, lost six times already?”

Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea, if Ennoshita’s twitching eye is any indication. “Get changed, Kageyama,” he repeats, dead calm. “Or it might be seven before you even step on the court.”

After changing at the speed of light, profusely thanking the elderly Coach Yamiji (who, despite his old age, could still withstand multiple aggressive chest bumps from the ripped Bokuto), quickly performing some basic stretches, _suffering through six straight laps of flying dives and oh wait, Karasuno managed to lose another set while he was still struggling so make that seven in a row_ , and _finally_ managing to play a couple sets (both of which they won, thank every god), and eating his weight in dinner, Tobio found himself, to put it lightly, completely and utterly exhausted.

“I’m never failing finals again,” he declares in a throaty gasp, the picture of a broken man as he slumps over the cafeteria table.

Tsukishima snorts. “Easier said than done.”

If he had just an ounce more of energy, he would spit back an irritated remark or flip him off, but Tobio is so weak he settles for glaring at Tsukishima from his undignified position.

Someone’s finger jabs him in the shoulder. He doesn’t need to look to know it’s Hinata, having long since memorized all the ways Hinata pokes and prods and shakes and initiates contact with him.

“I’m too tired for extra practice today,” Tobio bemoans, cursing his aching body for preventing him from having alone time with his (volleyball) partner.

“Aww, darn,” Hinata sighs, and Tobio can tell from his voice alone that he’s wilting at the rejection. For a moment he debates slogging through his fatigue for another hour to make Hinata happy, but then the touch on his shoulder disappears as the other boy wanders off in search of Kenma.

Try as he might, he can’t quite help himself from lifting his head just enough to watch Hinata slip out of the cafeteria, tugging a reluctant but yielding Kenma by the arm. He can’t stop the bitter taste in his mouth either, but at least he can pretend it’s from his dinner and not out of any turbulent teenage emotions.

To his left, Yachi peers at him in concern. “Kageyama-kun? You okay? Do you want me to get you more food?” She frets, even going as far as placing her palm over his forehead to check his temperature.

Distantly, he thinks it’s nice to see Yachi being much more open and self-assured these past few months. She was a nervous wreck when Hinata first recruited her as manager last year, but by the end of their first year she performed her managerial duties like a pro. Now that she’s no longer intimidated by the towering boys on the team, Yachi’s really become a beloved sister figure they swore to protect with their lives. Tanaka and Nishinoya outright hiss at lecherous opponents, and even Tsukishima has been known to steer her out of uncomfortable situations on multiple occasions.

Her concern is nice, but Tobio’s too dead to reassure her that he’s fine when he would love nothing more than to curl up in fetal position and sleep for a week. “I’m okay, Yachi-san. Just tired,” he yawns, politely pulling away from her hand. “Think I’ll head to the baths now and crash early, actually.”

Across the table, Yamaguchi swallows a large bite of rice. “You want me to go with you and make sure you don’t pass out or something?” He offers, spoon paused halfway to his mouth as he expectantly awaits an answer.

Yamaguchi’s another one who’s really come out of his shell in the past year. Tobio’s not nearly as close with him as Hinata, but Yamaguchi’s also the only teammate from his year who hasn’t been annoying at some point, so he’s nice to be around. While it does sound kind of tempting to have someone around to make sure he doesn’t faint, Tobio possesses just enough social sense to shake his head and reply with, “I’ll be fine, but thanks.”

The other week, he and Hinata finally learned the truth behind what Yamaguchi had to tell Yachi that day she wasn’t available to tutor them. Although Tobio never particularly cared for gossip about others, he likes both of them enough to respect their relationship. Since finding out about them, Tobio’s made sure to not interrupt them when they’re alone unless there’s an urgent matter, nor ask too many questions since they’re both shy about the change. Yamaguchi’s a good friend, but he would probably rather spend some time with Yachi instead of accompanying him to the baths—which is understandable, so Tobio quickly dismisses himself and hurries away, snagging a few onigiri out on his way out.

It’s not even eight o’clock yet, so pretty much all of the players at the camp are still eating or doing extra practice. The baths should be deserted for the next hour or two, which should give Tobio enough time to unwind under soothingly hot water in peace before the other boys start filing in. Tomorrow, he has to be up bright and early for another long day of training, so if he gets in bed before ten, that’ll be enough sleep to revive him from his half-dead state.

The bathhouse is located on a far corner of campus and the path is oddly unlit and, quite frankly, rather creepy. Hurriedly, he clutches his bath towel around his neck and stuffs his face with onigiri as he speeds down the path—the fear of getting jumped by some monster in the dark far outweighed the possibility of choking whilst jogging. Seriously, who thought it would be a good idea to build the bathhouse so far away? Consideration be damned, next time Tobio is definitely dragging Yamaguchi with him—but not because he’s scared, _noooo_. It’s just that whatever predator sneaks up on him has less of a chance if there are two boys ready to fight. Yep. Hell, his chances of survival would be higher if he brought Hinata along, too—that way, Tobio could sacrifice the smaller boy and flee. But if the monster preferred larger prey, then maybe Tsukishima was the best option. Come to think of it, Tobio could kill two birds with one stone by leaving Tsukishima to die while he escaped with his own life.

As he walks, he polishes off two of his onigiri and is about to chomp on the last one when a red-brown blur appears out of nowhere and flies straight at his face. Tobio reacts out of pure instinct—meaning, he flinches, stumbles backwards, and promptly falls on his ass, dropping his onigiri in the process.

“Dammit,” he sighs, mournfully staring at his fallen food. Such a perfect onigiri, wasted just like that. Irritation flickers across his face—after the long, long day he’s had full of physical and mental turmoil, the last thing he needed was for some inconsiderate asshole to startle him into dropping his last onigiri. Although Tobio’s petty competitiveness is usually reserved for volleyball and Hinata, he does _not_ fuck around when it comes to food, either.

He jerks his head in the direction of the culprit, ready to tear whomever did him wrong a new one—but the words die on his tongue when, search as he might, he can’t find anyone around him.

In fact, his only company comes in the form of a creature with russet feathers and enormous crimson eyes perched on the path before him.

Tobio blinks. The creature mimics the action, then twists its neck at an absurd angle all while maintaining eye contact. Upon closer examination, it looks vaguely familiar, almost like the animals printed on Akaashi’s mug…

 _An owl,_ he belatedly realizes, stunned as the bird engages him in a one-sided staring contest. _An owl with red eyes._

Memories of an encounter he hasn’t thought of in weeks flood his mind. A beautiful girl with shiny black hair asking him what he wants most in the world, then abruptly leaving after hearing his answer. Her last words before seemingly disappearing into thin air:

_If you ever find a red-eyed owl in Tokyo, make sure you offer it something to eat, okay?_

When he got home after practice that day, the first thing he did was look up owl eye colors on the Internet. Black, brown, orange, yellow, even some that were blue—but no red. Whatever the mysterious girl’s intentions were, nothing she said made sense. Hell, the entire interaction made Tobio’s skin crawl with unease, so he was more than glad to dismiss her as someone crazy and forget the incident ever occurred. The thought of her hasn’t even crossed his mind for over a month, but now all he can think of is the pretty girl and her ominous suggestion.

Slowly, unable to look away from the owl’s hypnotizing red gaze, he fumbles for the fallen onigiri and brings his hand forth in a tense offering. Owls have super hearing, don’t they—in that case, can this owl hear how loudly Tobio’s heart pounds against his ribcage? Does it know how much of an effect it has on him in this moment as he waits with bated breath and sweat beads at his hairline, blood rushing to his head as his outstretched arm shakes under the pressure of the owl’s crimson judgment?

In a flash, the owl lurches forward and snatches the onigiri with its talons, then retreats back a few paces. Tobio’s arm collapses, but he’s still frozen in place as he watches the owl tear away at the onigiri at an alarming rate.

 _This doesn’t mean anything,_ he tries to convince himself. _It’s just a hungry bird, nothing more. Don’t look too much into it._

When the last speck of rice has been scarfed up, the owl rotates its head to cast him another unsettling glance. Its eyes widen even more as it hops closer and pokes at his hands and pockets—almost as if it’s searching for more food.

“I don’t have any more, sorry,” he says before the words even register.

If an owl could pout, then that’s exactly what this one does when its eyes droop and its feathers sag in defeat.

Tobio coughs. “I could, um, grab more if you’re still hungry?” He suggests, internally kicking himself for one, how stupid he must look talking to a random bird, and two, for even entertaining it in the first place. It already ate his last onigiri and the dining hall’s probably closing soon; what on earth is he doing?

What happens next, he has no explanation for.

The owl stretches its beak open and lets out a shrill hoot that scares the living daylights out of him. Only the remaining shambles of his dignity keep him from crying out at the sound, but when the owl’s already large red eyes magnify even more and its feathers slide off like water, he can’t help the yelp that escapes his lips.

Instead of a small owl, now there’s a teenage girl with reddish-brown hair and droopy, dark red eyes standing in the center of a pile of feathers, grinning lazily down at him.

“Well, hello there,” she speaks in sleepy, dragging drawl. Amusement glints in her eyes when she extends a hand in front of his face—she’s wearing the black and white Fukurodani athletic uniform, he realizes—and remarks, “Normally I wouldn’t tell boys my name on the first meeting, but I like you already. Call me Yukie.”

Too dumbfounded to properly process everything that’s just happened, all Tobio can do is gape at the girl—no, _Yukie_ —in slack-jawed disbelief. Hinata once told him that his face looks especially funny when he’s shocked, which must be the case right now if Yukie’s chuckle is anything to go by.

She drops to a squat beside him, arms wrapped around her knees and leaning in a bit too close for comfort. “What?” She slurs, not quite drunkenly but in a manner that sends goosebumps up every inch of his skin. “Don’t act like you’ve never seen a guardian before, Onigiri Boy. How else would you know to feed me?”

“G-guardian?” Tobio manages to choke out, nervously inching away from her droopy gaze. If she’s talking about whether he’s ever seen an animal suddenly transform into a human or vice versa, then no, he has most certainly never seen such a thing before because as far as he’s concerned _they didn’t fucking exist until now_.

_I’m going crazy. I’ve really lost my mind after everything today and now I’m hallucinating shit. She’s not real, she’s not real, she’s not real, shesnotrealshesnotrealshesnotreal…_

Squeezing his eyes shut, he prays to every nameless deity out there for Yukie to be gone so he can finally take that damn bath and catch some sleep before he falls even further into insanity.

Unfortunately, she’s still very much there when he anxiously opens his eyes again. Yukie lethargically scans him from head to toe, stopping when her eyes land on the words on his shirt. “Oooh, you’re from Karasuno?” She leans even closer in interest, now only centimeters away from his face. “So you must’ve met Kiyoko, huh? Ahhh, no wonder she sent you to me. I should pay her a visit some time.”

_Kiyoko?_

Yukie, noticing how ridiculously lost he is, patiently explains, “Y’know, Kiyoko. Black hair, glasses, doesn’t like showing her legs, real sexy voice, hot as hell. Crow guardian of Karasuno High School, that Kiyoko. Ring any bells?”

The blood drains out of Tobio’s face as gradually, his dulled brainpower pieces together the rough pieces Yukie’s thrown his way. “You mean,” he whispers so hoarsely his throat itches, “that girl…she wasn’t human?”

Yukie taps her chin as she ponders over his question. “Well,” she decides at last. “Yes, and no. Humans are one of the forms we can take on, but if you meant human in the sense that we’re like you and your friends…well, no, not at all.”

And that takes the cake for the vaguest, least helpful explanation he’s heard in his life. “So what are you then? Gods?” He demands. The hint of a scowl slips through as he stares challengingly at the girl up in his personal space. Nothing makes sense now and he really would appreciate some actual answers instead of breezy statements that only worsen his growing headache.

To his surprise—and annoyance—Yukie responds with a flippant scoff. “Of course we’re not gods,” she dismisses with a shake of her head. “You think I’d go around stealing food from the school if I were a god? Ha! Imagine that—a god jump-scaring unsuspecting volleyball boys into dropping their food. Now _that_ would be something.”

Never before has Tobio wanted to bash his head against a wall so badly (that’s a lie. That one time Iwaizumi called him out for staring a little too longingly at a selfie from Hinata is definitely still the worst). Gritting his teeth, he tries again with a curt, “You called yourself a guardian, right? What’s a guardian?”

Yukie cocks her head, and while she doesn’t have the same flexibility as her owl form, it’s still freaky to see how far her neck can crane. “Ohhh, so Kiyoko didn’t explain anything to you, did she?” She infers, mouth open in an _O_ of understanding.

“Nope,” Tobio frowns. Hopefully, he adds, “Could you tell me what’s going on?”

“Hmm,” she muses in response, crimson eyes boring into his blue ones. “To answer your earlier question, yes, I’m a guardian. No, we’re not gods—but we’re not exactly your average spirits, either.”

In all honesty, Tobio didn’t even know “average spirits” existed in the first place so he has no idea what Yukie means by saying she’s not one of them, but he figures the more questions he asks the fewer answers he’ll get so he keeps his mouth shut and just listens.

Smoothly, Yukie tips back and sprawls on the path, humming a nondescript tune as she reclines with her hands behind her head. The bottom of her jacket rides up a bit with the motion and Tobio briefly catches sight of black ink on her waist before he hurriedly looks away, ears pink in embarrassment.

Yukie somehow manages to look completely at home lying on her back in the middle of a dirt path as she stares up at the Tokyo night sky with lax eyes. “I used to be able to see stars here,” she laments wistfully. “Shame how much things change in only a couple hundred years.”

Tobio’s brain to mouth filter fails him once again as he squeaks out an incredulous, “You’re _that_ old?” as if that’s the most shocking thing about the girl who literally just transformed from an owl to a human minutes ago.

“Oh, give or take,” she shrugs. “It’s hard to keep track of the exact number, since we’ve got a different counting system. But it’s certainly been a long time since the sky was clear. Say, you remember what year all these tall buildings shot up?”

“Um, I don’t know?”

“Ah, shame. Time starts blurring together when you get to my age; you’ll see.”

 _I don’t think I’m making it past a hundred._ “So what do guardians do?” Tobio asks, desperate to steer the conversation back to a slightly more sensible topic. “Why did that girl—er, Kiyoko—send me to you?”

Yukie just shrugs again. “Dunno, honestly. She’s still new and not many of the others know her, so she probably thought I could help since I have more connections. Would’ve been nice to know _what_ exactly she wants me to do or have some advanced notice, but I guess that’s part of the learning curve.”

Suddenly, Yukie snaps back to her feet and invades Tobio’s personal space again. “Say,” she drawls, curiosity gleaming in her red eyes. “Did Kiyoko ask anything you thought was a bit strange? Something random that probably made you feel weirded out?”

The whole conversation with Kiyoko creeped him out, but Tobio knows exactly what Yukie’s referring to. “She asked me what I want the most,” he says, chills running up his spine at the memory of Kiyoko’s imploring gaze and the way she casually twirled her pen.

Understanding dawns on Yukie’s face. “Ah, so that’s how it is,” she mumbles. Tobio thinks he hears her say something else under her breath, but it’s too quiet for him to make out and before he can ask, Yukie’s already sighing and falling back on her haunches.

“So Kiyoko saw something good in you and wants to grant your wish,” she states in her slurred drawl. “She may be young, but I suppose I’ll take her word for it since you were nice enough to give me food and all. Alright kid,” Yukie enthusiastically pats him on the shoulder with more force than her willowy frame appears capable of. “I’ll help you out, then!”

Tobio grimaces as he rubs his already sore shoulder, resigned to the inevitable fact that there’ll be a bruise there the next morning. “So…you can make wishes come true?” He raises a brow, unsure of what he wants the answer to be.

On one hand, if Yukie possess that kind of power it could be extremely helpful. On the other, Tobio doesn’t know if he trusts himself enough to make the right wish.

A breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding escapes him when Yukie shakes her head. “I’m not exactly qualified for wish granting,” she responds cryptically. “But like I said, I have connections Kiyoko doesn’t. Luckily for you, I happen to know some friends who can help you even more.”

“And they can grant wishes?” Tobio perks up.

“Well, no,” Yukie sheepishly scratches the back of her head when Tobio sags in disappointment. “But! They’ve been around a lot longer than I have and have one of the biggest networks amongst guardians. If they can’t figure something out, no one else can!”

That doesn’t sound particularly reassuring, but since he still doesn’t have a clue what Yukie’s talking about, he figures he might as well take her word. The whole idea of guardians and spirits in general existing is still one he can’t quite wrap his head around. For all Tobio knows, this could be some giant prank orchestrated by his annoying friends or, even worse, the heavens are literally screwing with him, but something about Yukie and Kiyoko make him want to believe them no matter how unnerving their encounters have been.

Besides…he can deny it as much as he wants, but Tobio knows he would do anything in his power to make a wish come true. Because at the end of the day, he’s selfish just like everyone else.

Yukie, taking his silence as compliance, forges on. “You’ll want to meet the lovers next,” she advises. Then, as if she can sense his next question, she quickly holds her hands up in defense and says, “I can’t tell you where they are, since it’s up to you to find the school yourself. But they’re close by— _very_ close by, much closer than you’d think. Find them and they can direct you almost anywhere. If you want to locate a guardian with wishing powers, the lovers are your best bet.”

 _Lovers? School? Close by?_ “Can’t you tell me anything else? That’s not much to go off of,” Tobio gnaws at his lower lip. _Close by_ could possibly mean somewhere else in Tokyo, but the city’s huge and he doesn’t even know how many schools there are or where to start looking.

“I’m sorry,” is all Yukie can offer him.

The hope that dared to soar in his chest just moments ago rapidly starts to plummet as the weight of Yukie’s task slams into him. Maybe this really is some cruel prank after all.

Distantly, he can hear voices echoing farther back on the path. Yukie’s eyes widen in alarm as the figures of two boys make their way over to the bathhouse.

“Aaaaaand that’s my cue to skedaddle,” she sighs ruefully, russet feathers already blooming over her skin as she shrinks with each passing second. When her transformation finishes, owl Yukie clumsily flaps her wings to a perch on his shoulder and whispers one last piece of advice before flying off into the starless night.

_Don’t be afraid of snakes._

Bus rides home from training camps always start off rowdy for the first hour or two, but by the time Takeda hits the halfway point to Sendai, most of the team is conked out. The third years sprawl across the back few rows while the first years huddle together near the front, leaving the second year crew spread throughout the middle. Yachi and Yamaguchi have their heads pushed together as they sleep and the second Tsukishima sat down, he’d already pulled on a sleeping mask and noise-cancelling headphones. Even Hinata ran out of energy about twenty minutes ago, peacefully napping away with his head resting on his seat mate’s shoulder.

Tobio, said seat mate, is the only student still wide awake. Partially because how is he supposed to fall asleep when his heart is racing faster than a spike, partially because of the constant headaches he’s suffered through since the first night of the camp.

_Guardians. Lovers. Tokyo. Wishes._

_Don’t be afraid of snakes._

He’s never actually been afraid of snakes in the first place, but Yukie probably wasn’t talking about real snakes anyway; whatever she meant, it was obviously a hint about finding the lovers.

The only problem is, he doesn’t know what the hell her hint means.

Carefully, so as not to disturb Hinata on his shoulder, Tobio pulls his phone out and opens a browser. If he can’t decode Yukie’s instructions on his own, then the best thing he can do is hope the Internet has some answers.

_how many schools in Tokyo_

The number Google gives him is enough for him to scowl and immediately delete what he typed.

_lovers Tokyo_

Regret hits him only after he’s clicked the search button. In hindsight, he definitely should’ve realized he was digging his own grave with his questionable word choice, but unfortunately his eyes were now scarred for life as he couldn’t escape the tab fast enough.

_japanese school guardians_

Just some articles about the state of security at schools in Japan.

_snakes tokyo_

Nothing useful.

_snakes tokyo lovers guardians schools_

It was a search of desperation, and as expected the results were just gibberish.

Frustrated, he nearly throws his phone but stops himself at the last second. Hinata shifts and mumbles something incomprehensible, soft hair tickling his headrest’s neck. Tobio frowns when he feels a damp patch growing on his shoulder—the midget had the nerve to drool—but can’t bring himself to shove Hinata off.

 _Think, Tobio. Think,_ he scolds, squeezing his eyes shut so hard it hurts.

Lovers. Plural. He has to find two guardians at one place. Close by meant the lovers had to be somewhere in the Kantou prefecture, but he suspects Tokyo in particular. Snakes. Snakes are animals. So are owls. Yukie’s other form is an owl. When Kiyoko vanished, there’d been a crow in the exact same spot she’d just been standing. Yukie even called Kiyoko the Crow guardian, which meant there was a good chance it hadn’t been any old crow in the courtyard—it had to have been a newly transformed Kiyoko. Karasuno’s school mascot is the crow. Fukurodani is referred to as the owls. So if he follows the logic that guardians have something to do with school animals…

There’s a good chance that somewhere in Tokyo, there exists a school with snakes as its mascot.

_tokyo school snake mascot_

The first page mostly consists of some articles about Japanese mascots for professional sports tournaments. Tobio scrolls all the way to bottom and is about to click to see more when the last result causes his finger to pause midair.

_Nohebi Academy_

**Sendai, October**

The moment Tobio steps on the court, his mind clears. Contrary to popular belief, he’s not stupid or simple-minded—at least, not when it comes to most things. When it comes to volleyball, though? Yeah, he’s a volleyball nut through and through whose passion sometimes gets the best of him. Once his shoes squeak on the wooden floor and he stares at the six across the net, nothing else matters.

This time is a bit different though. Rather than just volleyball on his mind, one other thought he can’t shake away lingers in the back of his mind during every serve, rally, and timeout.

_I have to go to Tokyo._

Tanaka sends a jump serve crackling to the corner, but experienced libero Watari plucks it up with ease.

_I have to go to Tokyo._

Captain Yahaba attempts a dump, only to be foiled by Nishinoya’s sharp eyes and quick reflexes.

_I have to go to Tokyo._

The ball sails his way. He doesn’t even need to think before sending it straight to Hinata’s outstretched hand.

_I have to go to Tokyo._

Another Seijoh receive, this time from some first year whose name he doesn’t remember. Then Yahaba has the ball again, poised for a proper toss instead of a dump.

_I have to go to Tokyo._

Tobio locks eyes with Kindaichi across the net. _Gotcha._

_I have to go to Tokyo._

Kindaichi arches his back and spikes with all his might, but Tsukishima’s waiting for him.

_I have to go to Tokyo._

The ball lands with a deafening slam on Seijoh’s side. Silence, and then the portion of the crowd decked out in Karasuno orange and black screams with joy. Tanaka and Nishinoya’s victorious shouts ring the loudest as they huddle with the other third years in a group hug. The substitutes standing off to the side rush onto the court to swarm Tsukishima, much to the matchwinner’s visible discomfort. Ukai’s got his arm locked around Takeda’s neck in death grip, nearly choking the poor man. A bawling Yachi smooshes her cheek against Yamaguchi’s chest as she clings to his waist, causing his face to redden way more than it had during the most intense rallies of the match. In the crowd, Bokuto’s squeezing Akaashi in his excitement while next to them, Ushijima and Iwaizumi high five and, in a rare moment of PDA, grip each other in a bone-crushing hug.

Amidst all the chaos around him, Tobio remains rooted to the same spot he’d been in when Tsukishima blocked Kindaichi, struggling to catch his breath as warmth floods his veins.

Dimly, a voice in his head whispers, _I made it._

A hand smacking him square on the back causes him to lurch forward and nearly fall on his face. Tobio readies his best scowl for whomever dared hit him so hard, but the anger vanishes when he’s greeted with Hinata’s flushed, sweaty, teary-eyed face.

Wordlessly, he holds out his hand in a fist. Hinata’s mouth breaks into a blinding smile as he raises his fist to meet Tobio’s, knocking their knuckles so hard it stings but they’re both so pumped with adrenaline they barely feel the pain.

_We made it._

For the second year in a row, Karasuno qualifies for Nationals.

“Oi, Kageyama.”

Tobio’s eyes linger on Hinata’s smiling face for a moment longer before he reluctantly turns to address the speaker. Sweat pours down Kindaichi’s face in buckets and his expression is contorted with the pain of defeat—another year where Seijoh got so close yet so far—but he seems genuine when he extends a hand and says, “Good game.”

“Yeah,” Tobio agrees, clasping his rival’s hand in his. “Let’s play again soon.”

Kindaichi scoffs, but there’s no real hostility to it. “Don’t get cocky just because you’ve got three wins and I’ve only got one. I’ll get you next time, Kageyama.”

“And I’ll be looking forward to it,” he counters with a grin that Kindaichi can’t help but return.

They’re a far cry from the bullheaded kids they’d been in middle school. Back then, Tobio would’ve barked angry words at Kindaichi whenever the latter missed a toss or was a step late to a receive. Kindaichi would’ve then retaliated by taunting him with childish jeers, leading to a heated argument that lasted until one of their teammates hesitantly wrestled them apart. Never would middle school Tobio have imagined he’d be able to compete with Kindaichi as friendly rivals in high school, yet here they are now—no longer ripping each others’ throats out but shaking hands with a promise to compete again. Thank every god Iwaizumi had intervened that fateful day.

Speaking of which…

Kindaichi straightens up as his gaze drifts to the Karasuno cheering section. “Is your dad here?” He asks, clearly attempting to sound casual but failing miserably, if the hopeful gleam in his eyes is anything to go by.

Tobio’s first instinct is to shoot him a quizzical look and ask what the hell he’s talking about, because his father’s never been able to make it to any of his games after moving to Yokohama and why on earth would Kindaichi be asking about him anyway? Just as he opens his mouth to say so, a memory from two years ago suddenly resurfaces and it all clicks.

Ah, right. Kindaichi assumed Iwaizumi was his dad back when they had that intervention, and Tobio hadn’t bothered to state otherwise. Well, this was certainly awkward now, even if Kindaichi wasn’t completely wrong.

Solemnly, he taps Kindaichi on the shoulder to get his attention and finally shatters the illusion by saying, “Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, Kindaichi, but he’s not my dad.” Upon seeing his rival’s crestfallen expression, Tobio hurriedly adds, “He _is_ here though, if you want to meet him again. I can reintroduce you after the awards ceremony?”

Kindaichi eyes him in disapproval, evidently still feeling betrayed by the cultural reset. “And stick around to watch you flaunting your medal? Yeah, right,” he sniffs.

Tobio waits.

“Yes, please,” Kindaichi hangs his head in shame.

“Kindaichi’s sure grown,” Iwaizumi whistles lowly. “He’s gotta be taller than Bokuto now—maybe even you, Waka.”

“Mmm, perhaps. There’s no doubt he’ll overtake me soon,” Ushijima assents, eyes fixed on the road as he maneuvers through a busy intersection.

Tobio yawns in the backseat. “He hasn’t changed at all,” he remarks. “Still the same old turnip head I’ve always known.”

Iwaizumi twists back to shoot him a playful look. “‘Turnip head’, huh? Okay then, Bowl Cut.”

“You have spiky hair, Iwaizumi-san.”

“Hey, I swear it’s naturally like that!”

“Personally, I think both of your haircuts are nice and rather practical.”

“Thank you for that, Waka.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Once Ushijima’s pulled into the drive, he and Tobio unload the groceries from the car while Iwaizumi rushes inside to get started on dinner. Ukai and Takeda had treated the team to dinner to celebrate their win and even invited the four former players, but they all declined. Bokuto was working the night shift at his gym and Akaashi had a deadline he’d ignored in favor of watching his son’s game, but as a result he was now on a serious time crunch. Meanwhile Iwaizumi and Ushijima elected to wander around Sendai and pick up groceries while Tobio was eating, then pick him up once he was ready to go home. They offered Hinata a ride too but he declined, insisting he’d rather go with the team back to the school and practice a bit more.

Tobio pretended not to feel the sharp stab of disappointment as he watched Hinata scamper onto the team bus.

As Iwaizumi whips up a quick dinner in the kitchen, Tobio settles on his favorite spot on the back deck with a volleyball and falls back into the rhythm of laidback tosses. He hasn’t had a moment to sit down and just think all day, what with the constant surges of adrenaline coursing through him during the match and the rowdiness at the restaurant. Although his thoughts were single-minded and goal-oriented on the court, the subdued atmosphere of a night in the countryside leaves him with way too thoughts flooding back into his head.

He made it to Tokyo again. He’s about ninety percent sure he knows where to find the lovers.

Now what? It’ll be a few months before he can go to Tokyo, and what if the lovers are just like Kiyoko and Yukie? What if they can’t help him? What if there’s no one who can help him and he’s just being sent on a wild goose chase as entertainment for the deities?

Even if the guardians mean what they say, what will he do once he finds one who can grant wishes? What exactly is he supposed to wish for? Asking for victory at Nationals or for a successful post high school career feels like a waste—he knows he has the skills, training, and resources to make all of that possible on his own. So what else does he want? To bring Oikawa and Iwaizumi back together? Is it really worth using a wish on someone he doesn’t know just because he thinks there’s a chance it’ll create happiness?

 _I want everyone to be okay,_ he’d said. Those were the words that convinced Kiyoko to send him to Yukie; there had to be some way Kiyoko thought his wish could come true.

But how?

Behind him, the screen door slides open and heavy footsteps pad his way. “Reflecting on the match?” Ushijima guesses, lowering himself onto a deck chair.

Tobio catches the volleyball and hugs it to his chest. “Mmm, not really. Just thinking.”

“About volleyball, or something else?”

Damn that Ushijima for being more perceptive than he comes off. “Both,” he admits, squeezing the ball tighter.

“Ah,” is all Ushijima utters in response. No further questions, no prying, no taking a bone that wasn’t offered to him—Tobio’s always appreciated that about him. Iwaizumi is the one who kicks down barriers and instigates heart to hearts and emotional confessions; Ushijima, on the other hand, is the one who quietly waits to be approached first, then provides much-needed comfort with only a few words. If someone doesn’t come to him directly, he trusts they either a) have everything under control, or b) will come when they’re ready.

A pang of guilt hits deep in his gut—a feeling he’s grown alarmingly numb to recently—when Ushijima offers to practice some sets with him. Ushijima is a good man who loves Iwaizumi and has always treated Tobio like a son; then why can’t Tobio stop obsessing over Oikawa Tooru? Why can’t he let go of someone he’s never met? He’s known Ushijima since he was nine years old and always liked him, so why is it that when he looks at the older man now, he gets the inexplicable feeling that something is wrong?

Then he remembers the way Iwaizumi cried alone and tried to hide his tears, and god, of course he knows why.

“No thanks, I’m pretty worn out after today,” Tobio declines. He can’t bring himself to look at Ushijima—not when the horrible knife of guilt only twists harder—so he keeps his eyes trained on the night sky.

Unlike Tokyo, the sky over their little countryside town glitters with thousands and thousands of stars. Once upon a time, his parents told him that if he wished hard enough, the stars would help his dreams become a reality. If he happened to be lucky enough to chance upon a shooting star, it was an omen that good things would follow. Miwa, however, never believed in stuff like that. _When has wishing on a star ever gotten me what I wanted?_ She’d pointed out. _Everything I’ve achieved, everything’s that happened to me—it’s all because of the things I’ve done myself and a little bit of luck. A ball of gas in outer space didn’t do jack shit for me._

Still, there was a certain comfort in spilling wishes to stars when he can’t voice them to people. Wishes are just wishes—if they come true, you’re lucky. If they don’t, well, it was just a dream anyway.

And yet, apparently there are beings out there who aren’t gods or mere spirits that can do more than the stars ever could.

Twisting, Tobio stares at the tips of his companion’s house slippers. “This is going to sound dumb,” he speaks up. “But have you ever heard of school guardians?”

He doesn’t need to see Ushijima’s face to know he’s raising a brow. “You mean the security guards who make sure no one trespasses? We had plenty of those at Shiratorizawa.”

“No, not that,” Tobio shakes his head. His teeth sink into his lower lip as he tries to think of the best way to explain what he means without sounding crazy. “I meant guardians as in myths, kind of like Hanako-san of the toilet.”

“Ah,” followed by a long pause. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Tobio’s ready to insist he didn’t mean anything and that it was just a stupid question when, to his shock, Ushijima continues with, “Then yes, I know about those kinds of guardians, too.”

“You do?” He exclaims, shooting upright before he can stop himself.

For the first time that evening, he finds himself staring at his neighbor’s neutral, impassive face. Ushijima’s eyes don’t betray anything as he lifts and lowers a single shoulder, states, “You’re referring to the animal guardians who supposedly watch over each school in Japan, no?”

Of all people to provide him with potentially useful information, no-nonsense Ushijima Wakatoshi was certainly the last person he’d expected. “Um, yeah,” Tobio gapes, cringing at how stupid he must look. “Yeah. That’s what I meant.”

Thankfully, Ushijima doesn’t seem to notice or mind Tobio’s shock. He merely folds his hands together and says, “I didn’t know those rumors were still around. Did you hear about guardians from one of your friends?”

Tobio grimaces. _No, two girls who turned out to be guardians decided to help me and I don’t even know why or what the hell guardians actually are._ “Not really. I just overheard some classmates talking about it,” he lies between his teeth. More eagerly, he asks, “What do you know about them?”

Ushijima shrugs. “Not much. I wasn’t well versed in the stories myself, but I had a friend who was fascinated by them. Tendou used to tell me how every school has a designated immortal guardian who shifts between human and animal form and protects the students. I’ve heard some students would try and find their school’s guardian. Supposedly we had an immortal eagle spirit watching over us, but I’ve never seen it for myself. Tendou claims he has, though.”

 _Protects the students?_ That’s new. Yukie didn’t really go into detail about what guardians did, but now it’s slowly starting to make sense why Kiyoko took an interest in him when she could tell there was something bothering him. And now that he thinks about it, he couldn’t have been the only one to run into a guardian—other students must have seen them at one point, which is how the rumors started in the first place.

“What did your friend say about it?” Tobio inquires, scooting closer in interest.

Ushijima gives him an unreadable look that, while not exactly accusatory, certainly feels _probing_ —like he somehow sees right through Tobio’s feigned nonchalance. “Unfortunately,” he says, “I don’t remember much of what he said, since this was almost thirty years ago. But I believe Tendou said something about the eagle’s human form having dyed tips and a, _ahem_ , ‘resting bitch face’, whatever that may mean. Ah, he had a name too—something like Eita, I believe? Tendou didn’t tell me what they talked about, but he said Eita wasn’t a particularly nice person.”

Dyed tips. Resting bitch face. Not very nice. This Eita doesn’t sound anything like Kiyoko or Yukie, but then again, it sounds like Tendou went out of his way to find him unlike how Tobio just got lucky. Besides, Tobio’s met the eccentric Tendou Satori before when he came to visit once and can confirm that he can be a bit…difficult to get along with at first, to say the least.

Come to think of it, Kiyoko and Yukie are actually pretty different from each other. Whereas Kiyoko made him nervous because of the way her black eyes watched him and the vague questions she asked, Yukie’s lax casualness with him despite the odd circumstances also made him wonder if he was going crazy. What are the other guardians like, then? Were most of them kind or were they hostile like Eita? How many would actually be willing to help him?

Feeling unusually jittery, Tobio thrums his fingers against the volleyball in his lap and refocuses his gaze on Ushijima’s slippers again. Miwa got those for him, too—she’d gone to Kyoto on a work trip and bought their beloved neighbors matching slippers because their old ones were worn out.

“Did Tendou-san ever see him again?” He wonders, fixated on a brown stain on the side of the right slipper. That happened when Iwaizumi accidentally spilled vinegar a few months ago, if he remembers correctly.

A rare smile twitches on Ushijima’s lips, but it goes undetected as Tobio’s too lost in the memory of how Iwaizumi vigorously scrubbed at the stain to no avail.

“No, I don’t believe he did,” the older man replies. “To this day I still don’t know if Tendou made the story up or not, but I think it would be nice if it’s real.”

Tobio scrunches his forehead. “You do? Why?” He inquires. “Don’t you think it’s, I don’t know, kind of scary to think beings like that exist?”

Ushijima doesn’t answer for a long time—long enough that Tobio’s gaze flicks up to his face again in concern. He expects to be greeted with Ushijima’s usual impassive expression or maybe his thinking face where he knits his eyebrows together and the wrinkles on his forehead increase tenfold. What he hadn’t prepared for was the distant, melancholic way Ushijima’s eyes seemed to stare right through him without really seeing him, as if he were somewhere else instead of the back deck of Iwaizumi’s house.

The faraway look in his eyes doesn’t go away when he finally answers the question with a wistful, “Because I need to believe some things are still possible.”

_What?_

The screen door slides open again to reveal Iwaizumi wearing that pink apron. “Hey, dinner’s finally ready,” he announces, clapping a hand down on his partner’s shoulder. “You still hungry, Tobio? I made plenty for you, too.”

Tobio, transfixed by the way Ushijima’s frame relaxes at the touch, shakes his head. “I’m okay. I think I’ll head home for the night, actually. Enjoy your dinner, and I’ll see you tomorrow,” he bows, then picks up his shoes and heads across the lawn to his own place.

The walk back only takes ten seconds at most, but it feels much longer when he knows Ushijima’s gaze is boring into the back of his skull.

**Tokyo, December**

As it turns out, he makes it to Tokyo a bit earlier than originally planned.

Perhaps it shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but when Takeda cheerfully announced that Tobio had been called up for the youth training camp again, the first feeling to wash over him was not one of smugness but of pure relief—because even though his mind has been muddled with all this guardians and wishes business for the past few months, he’s still been able to focus on volleyball. In spite of everything happening, he’s still a damn good athlete and the results show it.

Hinata was of course sullen after not being invited again, but cheered up once Takeda announced the team had plenty of practice matches scheduled with Miyagi’s other powerhouses. Obviously Tobio couldn’t pass up the opportunity to act smug to his rival, but deep down he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if he weren’t the only one going (not that he wanted Hinata specifically to come because pffft, the guy still sucked, but _still_ ).

The camp wasn’t nearly as interesting as last year, what with big names like Miya Atsumu, Hoshiumi, Sakusa, and Komori too old now that they were all third years. Chigaya was back and ended up being his roommate though, which was nice. Admittedly Tobio didn’t really make friends with any of the other players or even learn a lot of names, but the skill level was still high (although not as high as the year before) and he had a good experience overall.

(The only lowlight from the camp didn’t have anything to do with volleyball, but with a cocky text from a certain Kansai dialect-speaking, bottle blonde setter who was training with an older group at the same time.

_Miya Atsumu: ya missin’ me, Tobio-kun? :3_

_Miya Atsumu: I see that ya read this ya lil’ shit_

_Miya Atsumu: stop ignorin’ me_

_Miya Atsumu: aw hell, be that way then_ )

But every night, as he lay awake listening to Chigaya’s quiet snoring, he plotted. First he burnt his eyes under the blue light of his phone figuring out directions on his maps app, then he attempted to mentally calculate how fast he would have to walk in order to catch his train. After that he had to do some research about the state of security at Tokyo private schools, the best possible escape route in case a guard chased him out, do Tokyo security guards have dogs with them, how to outrun a German Shepherd, remedies for a dog bites, do you really get a phone call when you’re in jail, how much is bail for trespassing…and before he knew it he somehow ended up reading a long ass article on the state of the Japanese justice system at three in the morning and Chigaya’s throwing a pillow at him for still being awake.

The point is, he spends a lot of time figuring out the details of his master plan. The athletes aren’t allowed to go anywhere except the gym and the dorm for safety purposes, so he only has one chance to execute the plan: in the hour before his train home departs. If he messes up that one shot, he’ll have to wait until January when it will be even harder to sneak out.

So the second the last meeting with the coaches ends, Tobio mumbles a quick goodbye to Chigaya and dashes out of the gym as fast as he can. He’s so prepared for this he already packed the night before and even left his navigation app open so it would be the first thing he sees when he unlocks his phone. Heads turn as a strange boy wearing athletic gear sprints down the sidewalk with his phone held in front of his face, but Tobio’s a determined man on a mission who doesn’t have the time or self-consciousness to care about appearances.

After twenty minutes of the fastest running he’s ever done in his life (seriously, he deserves an award or something), he skids to halt in front of the towering, intimidating, majestic iron gates of the school that’s been plaguing his thoughts since July.

Nohebi Academy.

A cursory glance at his surroundings lets him know there aren’t any guards (thank god, because after all his research he really doesn’t want to end up in the prison system), just a few students in club uniforms milling around the entrance talking to each other. He know he sticks out like a sore thumb with his black tracksuit that clearly doesn’t match the Nohebi green and his duffel bag from training camp, but as Yachi once said, as long as he acts like he belongs, no one will glance twice at him.

_That’s right, Tobio. You’re totally supposed to be here. There is nothing remotely suspicious about you. You belong here. This is your turf. Karasuno? Pfft. For the next fifteen minutes, you are a Nohebi student. You’re gonna find those snake lovers, get your answers, and make it to the station on time without getting arrested. You’ve got this. You are THE MAN._

With newfound confidence brimming on every inch of him, Tobio puffs up his chest and resolutely stomps past the gate…

“Excuse me, young man? May I see your student ID?”

…only to be stopped by a cranky-looking old man in a guard uniform.

_Fuck._

So Yachi’s advice was a lie. Well, there was another suggestion she told him about for times of great danger: Get the hell out of there.

A knobbly hand snatches his wrist. “Sir, I’m going to need to see some ID before I allow you onto the premises,” the old man repeats, irritation creeping into his voice.

Another failure. She did tell him about one last, foolproof plan to escape any dangerous situation, though: Act cute.

Tobio cracks his best smile and innocently widens his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he squeaks out two octaves above his usual pitch. For added dramatic effect, he balls his hand into a fist and smacks it against his forehead like the girls he’s seen in Miwa’s dramas. “I forgot my wallet at home. Silly me!”

(God, _please_ strike him down already. _Please_.)

The unimpressed security guard just glowers. “Your student ID, boy. _Now._ ”

“Right,” he whimpers.

Lesson of the day: Yachi’s a fucking liar.

As Tobio pretends to rummage through his backpack, his mind races a mile a minute trying to come up with a way to get out that doesn’t end up with the stern guard calling the cops. Unfortunately the part of his master plan dedicated to escaping sticky situations only consisted of two options: don’t get into said sticky situations in the first place or run for his life. And, well, running away was Yachi’s second piece of advice that failed him already. He could definitely outpace this old man without breaking, but the iron grip on his wrist showed no sign of yielding and he didn’t dare attempt to rip his arm away for fear of losing it entirely. The best idea would probably be to confess he’s not a student and leave, but that would only make him look more suspicious since he’s digging through his bag trying to find a student ID that doesn’t exist and he really, really, _really_ wants to find the lovers now because if not today, he’ll have to wait another month.

The security guard clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Young man, if you are not a student here or a guest of someone affiliated with this school, I cannot let you onto the campus and will have to insist you leave this instant.”

“J-just give me a second!” Tobio begs, clawing through his bag with increased fervor.

He _does_ have his Karasuno ID; if he flashes it fast enough, what were the chances the old man doesn’t notice it’s for the wrong school? The guard’s bound to have bad vision like all old people do, right?

Well, it’s worth a shot. Tobio fishes out his wallet and flips it open with trembling fingers. Dread spills over him from head to toe as he scrabbles for his ID, internally chanting a prayer for any deity to please take pity on him and save him from this situation.

Just as he grips the card and starts tugging on it, a weight falls on his shoulders and effectively knocks the breath out of his lungs.

“Ah, there you are, Hiroo-kun,” a slinking, simpering voice rings out by his ear. Tobio snaps his head to the side to meet piercing, upward-slanting eyes set on an angular face.

The arm around his shoulders tightens almost painfully. “I thought you might have gotten lost, so I came down to get you myself,” the man remarks, his close-mouthed smile sending shivers up Tobio’s spine.

The security guard’s grip on his wrist slackens. “You know this boy, Daishou-sensei?”

Daishou’s smile thins as the corners of his lips stretch impossibly high. “Yes, I do. My _nephew_ here,” he squeezes even harder, “is looking to transfer to our wonderful academy. I told him I’d show him around today, but I forgot to tell him about the strict security measures. Please forgive the misunderstanding; I take all the blame for whatever hassle my nephew put you through.”

“Oh no, I’m the one who needs to apologize,” the old man shamefully bows, refusing to raise his head. “I manhandled an esteemed teacher’s family. Please enjoy your tour, Hiroo-kun, and may both of you have a nice day.”

Tobio—or _Hiroo_ , apparently—timidly cracks a weak grin. “You too, sir,” he lamely nods as Daishou steers him away from the entrance.

Once they’re out of earshot, Tobio nervously glances at Daishou and whispers, “Thanks for your help, but you can, um, let go of me now.”

If anything, the arm only constricts his shoulders even more. “Don’t tell me what to do,” Daishou hisses, voice devoid of any of the oily pleasantry from moments ago. “You’ve got an awful lot of nerve coming to my turf, brat. If I hadn’t known about you in advance I would’ve gladly kicked your ass out the second you crossed the gate, mark my words.”

Something felt off about Daishou from the beginning, but Tobio’s queasy feelings of unease grow exponentially at the man’s threat. “How did you know I was coming?” He asks.

Daishou’s eyes narrow even further when he does that creepy half-smile, half-smirk again. “Take a guess, _Onigiri Boy_.”

All the air in his lungs whooshes out at once. _Yukie_. “Oh, thank god,” Tobio sighs in relief. Bless Yukie, his savior. Next time he’s at Fukurodani, he’ll leave her an entire plate of onigiri because it’s the least she deserves. _Two_ plates, in fact.

And then it hits him.

“Wait,” Tobio stiffens, jerking his head up to meet Daishou’s cold face. “If you know Yukie, then you must be…”

Daishou scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “Took you long enough to show your face around here.”

_The lovers._

Or one of them, at least. Judging by appearance alone, Daishou resembles just about any man in his late twenties or early thirties. His slacks are neatly tapered at the ankle and his white dress shirt is crisp without a hint of a wrinkle. The guard referred to him as “Daishou-sensei”, which the lanyard and name tag around his neck support. Even his hairstyle is unassuming as can be, just a simple, neat part of brown hair to the side.

And yet, he’s no ordinary teacher. The upward-slanting eyes, the close-mouthed smile, the silky way he links his words—everything that freaked Tobio out at first starts to make sense now as the bigger picture clicks into place.

“You’re one of the snakes,” he quietly declares.

Daishou stands a few centimeters shorter than him and his frame is slimmer, but the former’s intimidating leer gives off the impression of a giant anaconda ready to pounce. “That I am,” he sneers like a predator scanning its prey. “And you’re the punk I’m obligated to help despite my better judgment. What’s your real name, Onigiri Boy?”

Gulping, Tobio lowers his head and tentatively extends a hand, “It’s Kageyama Tobio, Daishou-sensei.”

The snake guardian barks out a laugh. “Guess I’d better tell you my real name since you told me yours,” he muses with a sigh.

Daishou—or apparently that’s just a fake name—clasps the outstretched hand and makes sure to dig the end of his index finger into Tobio’s pulse point. “To humans, I’m Daishou-sensei of Nohebi Academy.”

Snakelike eyes narrow even further. “But to everyone else, I’m Suguru of the two snake guardians. And you, brat, have only one chance to convince us why I should help you.”

“Us?” Tobio parrots back between gritted teeth, grimacing at the pressure on his inner wrist.

Suguru merely crooks a finger downwards. Tobio follows the direction the finger points to—and nearly jumps out of his skin when something black, red, and green circles his feet and a thin, dark tongue flickers at him.

 _Oh,_ his departed soul realizes. _So this is the other snake._

The snake slithers over to Suguru and wraps itself around his ankle, never once tearing its beady eyes away from the boy it just scared. Suguru doesn’t even bother hiding his smugness as his smirks and cuts off Tobio’s circulation even more. He lifts his other hand up and places his thumb on his middle finger, says, “Let’s go somewhere a bit more private to discuss the matter, shall we?”

In a single snap, the daylight vanishes.

Or rather, they’re no longer outside by the gate to Nohebi. Instead, when Tobio whirls around to take in his surroundings, he finds himself in a small, dim room lit only by dozens of little candles on the floor. Countless slips of paper with characters scrawled in black and green ink hang from the ceiling, and smack in the middle of the room rests a raised altar holding a stone carving of two intertwined snakes.

He’s seen rooms like this before on many occasions. Namely, when Miwa and Iwaizumi drag him out of the house every New Years to offer thanks and prayers.

“Is this your shrine?” Tobio guesses, startled by the loudness in which his voice bounces throughout the enclosed room.

Light laughter breaks through the echoes. “That’s very observant of you, Tobio-kun,” a silvery voice hums.

In front of him stands Suguru, hand in hand with a beautiful woman. Like her partner, the woman’s smile is close-lipped and stretches farther than humanly possible at the corners, but whereas Suguru’s exuded a domineering air hers feels a little warmer. Long brain hair styled with blunt, parted bangs falls down her back. Her clothes match Suguru’s, with the same neatly pressed white button-up with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and a short black skirt. Clipped to her shirt is a badge Tobio sees whenever he takes a trip to the infirmary.

The woman holds out her free hand. “I’m sorry if I scared you earlier,” she chuckles, not sounding particularly sorry at all. “But I’m the other snake you’ve been looking for. The students here know me as Nurse Yamaka, but my real name is Mika. It’s nice to finally meet you, Onigiri Boy—or rather, Kageyama Tobio-kun.”

Tobio prays the room is dark enough to hide the blush on his cheeks (he’s a teenage boy, of course he’s going to react accordingly when he sees someone attractive), but if Suguru’s protective glare is anything to go by, the answer’s probably a no. “Nice to meet you, too,” he croaks out and hesitantly accepts her hand. “I’m, um, sorry it took me this long to find you. Yukie-san couldn’t tell me much and I’m not from around here.”

Mika shakes her head. “It’s not like Suguru and I have anything better to do,” she dismisses with a flippant wave.

Something about the movement catches Tobio’s eyes. Was it just his imagination, or did Mika have something black circling the smooth skin of her wrist?

The sound of Suguru exaggeratedly clearing his throat pushes the thought of his head as he snaps back to attention. “Well?” Suguru coolly lifts a brow. “Get on with it, kid. Tell us why you’re here so I can kick you out faster.”

“Suguru,” Mika scolds as pleasantly as if she were talking about the weather. “Behave, _or else_.”

Suguru’s scowl morphs into a dopey grin so fast Tobio has to blink several times to make sure he’s not hallucinating. “Yes, Mika-chaaaaaaan,” Suguru coos, practically melting against the considerably shorter woman.

Mika doesn’t even bat an eye. “That’s a good boy,” she praises, petting the top of his head like he’s a puppy. “If you can play nice to our guest for the rest of his visit, I’ll give you a reward.”

“Yes, Mika-chan!” Suguru salutes enthusiastically.

(What, Tobio deadpans, the _hell_ happened to the creepy ass snake guy looming over him minutes ago, and who is this whipped, lovesick man with the same face?)

“Talk to us whenever you’re ready, Tobio-kun,” Mika ushers encouragingly. “Yukie told us about you meeting the Crow and how both of them want to help grant you a wish, but we’re going to need a few more details before we can do anything for you. So for starters, what exactly is this wish you want to come true?”

Now _that’s_ a good question—such a good question he doesn’t even have a real answer to it. He’s spent so long figuring out how to get to this point that he never once considered, well, what to do once he got here.

“I,” he chews on his lip. “I have this friend—he’s more like a dad to me, actually—and I _think_ he’s happy with the way things are. I mean, that’s how he looks to me.”

Suguru raises a skeptical brow. “Ooookay? So what’s the problem, exactly?”

Tobio shrugs helplessly. “I’m not sure if there’s a real problem,” he confesses. “But I’ve known him for a long time and I only found out recently that he’s had some tragic life before I knew him. Nobody wants to tell me what happened but…I know he lost someone important to him and even though he looks like he’s moved on I think he’s still sad about it. So I want him to…not be sad anymore, I guess. I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure? That’s bullshit,” Suguru snorts. “You and I both know that you wouldn’t be here unless you were absolutely sure. Otherwise why would you go through so much trouble on just a hunch?”

“So let me get this straight: someone you care about seems fine on the outside, but you think you can see right through him. You want him to be happy, but he’s not happy. You want him to not be sad, but he’d never in a million years admit that he’s sad. You want to know why, but nobody’s telling you the truth. You’re so determined to solve all these problems of yours that you were willing to follow the advice of two guardians—which, might I add, you didn’t even know the existence of before you met the Crow—who could for all you know be scamming you because some immortals are assholes like that. You never stopped once to question that though, did you? You just had blind faith that they really wanted to help you and went along with this wild goose chase of theirs, hopping around from guardian to guardian until you eventually find one powerful enough to grant your wish—and the best part is, _you don’t even know what to wish for!_ So all this hassle, all this trouble, all this searching might end up being for nothing even if you find a guardian capable of making wishes come true because you never stopped to truly think things through. All this time you’ve been chasing a hope based off of your personal feelings and the extremely limited knowledge you’re privy to; what on earth can you actually accomplish this way?”

Suguru’s eyes cut like shards of ice. “So tell me, was I wrong about any of that?”

“I—” Tobio, at a complete loss for words, can’t do anything but stammer. “I—I don’t—”

_He’s not wrong._

Deep down, Tobio thinks he knew that all along, too.

Suguru huffs out a tired sigh. “I’m not trying to burst your bubble or anything, kid,” he rakes a hand through his hair. “I think it’s admirable of you that you care so much about your friend. But we can’t help you if you don’t have a concrete idea of what it is you can do to help him.”

“You know,” Mika suddenly speaks up. Her gaze is trained on Tobio with an unreadable expression, but something akin to interest peeks through her tone. “Suguru, maybe we _can_ still help him, actually.”

“Huh?” Suguru twists his face into a quizzical frown. “Mika-chan, you don’t mean…”

Calmly, Mika slips her hand up to his wrist and tugs him forward. “Come closer, Tobio-kun,” she beckons him over. “And place your hand palm-down over Suguru’s, if you will.”

 _What if he tries stabbing my pulse again?_ With all the reluctance in the world, Tobio hesitantly does as he’s told and gingerly fits his palm on top of the snake man’s. Suguru’s hand feel surprisingly yet familiarly calloused, with rough, uneven ridges matching Tobio’s own. For a second the touch feels almost fatherly in a way, but one look at Suguru’s sour demeanor ruins the illusion.

Mika covers her mouth, but Tobio can tell by the way her eyes crinkle at the corners that she’s smiling. “Our powers aren’t limited to immortality and shape-shifting,” she explains. “The longer a guardian sticks around for, the more powerful they become. For example, I can see the future. And Suguru here,” she winks mischievously, “can see into the past.”

“Thank you for the advertisement, Mika-chan,” Suguru deadpans. “But you do realize I don’t _have_ to touch someone to look into their past, right? You’re just trying to embarrass me, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” Mika winks again. She shifts her attention back to Tobio—who, if possible, feels more lost than ever—and says, “You told us you know something bad happened before, but no one will tell you what it was, right? Well, maybe Suguru can help you out on that end.”

Realization dawns on him. “You mean Suguru-san can find out what happened?” Tobio demands incredulously. “But I wasn’t there for it—can he still see if it wasn’t my past?”

Suguru scoffs. “Don’t underestimate me. Again, physical contact isn’t necessary for my power, Mika-chan’s just messing with both of us,” he shoots his partner an exasperated, yet playful glare, to which Mika responds with a cheeky peace sign. “Give me a few details and I should be able to figure out just about anything. Names and rough dates are especially useful.”

 _There are just some things that are better left in the past, Kageyama-kun_ , Akaashi warned him.

 _For your own sanity and out of respect for Iwaizumi-san, leave what happened in the past. Please?_ Miwa begged.

 _Screw it_ , he decides. “Iwaizumi Hajime and Oikawa Tooru,” Tobio says. “I don’t know when, but it had to be more than eleven years ago. Is, um, that enough to go with?”

“Didn’t I already tell you not to underestimate me?” Suguru rolls his eyes. “That’s plenty. Just give me a little bit.”

With that, Suguru closes his eyes, breathes out, and…just stands there. Literally just stands there without moving a muscle for what feels like an eternity.

Mika giggles at Tobio’s bewildered face. “What, did you expect him to start glowing or something?” She teases knowingly.

Tobio blushes, but _obviously_ not because she correctly called him out. “I thought something more dramatic would happen,” he sheepishly admits. Privately, he can’t help but wonder if he really is being conned after all.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Suguru curses without warning, causing Tobio to jump and reflexively rip his hand away. Even Mika looks startled, her hand flying to her chest in shock.

If Suguru’s glare was chilling enough before, it’s practically frigid now as his face contorts into the most murderous scowl Tobio’s ever seen. “Forget it,” Suguru growls. “I can’t help you, kid. There’s nothing we can do for you, not when it’s something like this.”

“Suguru?” Mika touches his elbow in concern. “What’s wrong? What did you see? Surely there’s something—”

“There would be something we could do if this punk weren’t trying to _bring someone back from the fucking dead_!”

One time when he was younger, Tobio fell off the monkey bars at the playground and landed on his stomach so hard all the air in his lungs was forced out by the impact. Another time, he was playing with Iwaizumi in the park when an unleashed dog jumped out of nowhere and pounced on him, knocking him to the ground. He’s been hit by countless volleyballs over the years, with plenty of them nailing him right in the stomach. In middle school, before he patched things up with Kindaichi, they brawled on the gym floor once and both managed to sneak in a few good punches before their teammates pulled them apart. His parents moving to another city felt like a punch to the gut. Watching Yachi drag a flushed, feverish Hinata off the court in the dying moments of their last set against Kamomedai hurt with a different kind of pain he hadn’t experienced before as he couldn’t do anything to help one of the people he cares about the most.

None of that, however, can compare to the metaphorical blow to the head Suguru’s words inspire.

_Dead._

Tobio’s knees, which he hadn’t even noticed were shaking, give out and he crumples to the floor. He wasn’t stupid. He’d known from the start what Miwa meant by _it wasn’t a breakup_ ; it didn’t take a genius to read between the lines. But hearing it out loud—the confirmation, the definitive _dead_ —made everything so much more real.

Oikawa Tooru—the boy growing up alongside Iwaizumi in all those pictures, the man he was supposed to marry, the one he still cries over—is dead.

No matter how many stars Tobio wishes upon, he can’t change that simple fact.

Gentle fingers run through his hair. “It’s alright,” Mika soothes, kneeling so she can meet him eye to eye. Sympathy is written all over her face as she ruffles his hair like she would to a child. “We know you didn’t know, Tobio-kun. You did nothing wrong, okay? Suguru’s harsh but he knows that you only have good intentions.”

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” Suguru gruffly apologizes as he too drops to his knees and offers Tobio a clumsy thump on the back. “That was an overreaction on my end and I shouldn’t have gotten so mad. But you have to understand, kid…”

“I know,” Tobio agrees soullessly. “You can’t bring back the dead, right?”

Suguru swallows. “Yeah. That’s right.”

There are about a million things Tobio wants to do—he wants to scream at how the world is unfair for taking people away but also fair at the same time for refusing to bring them back; he wants to cry because the past six months have resulted in nothing; he wants to forget hearing the word _dead_ because Miwa was right and knowing the truth only makes him feel worse; he wants to curse Kiyoko for ever planting a seed of hope in him in the first place by sending him on this journey; he wants to turn back time to the day Karasuno lost to Dateko and walk away from what’s buried in the yard; he wants to burn the memory of Iwaizumi’s red eyes until it’s nothing but embers; most of all, he wants to stop feeling so goddamn helpless.

But he doesn’t have the energy to do anything but sit on the floor of the shrine in a defeated, silent heap.

Mika suddenly stills in her ministrations. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but…” she trails off and exchanges glances with her partner. “I think there’s one thing we can still do for you.”

Tobio, daring to hope despite the fruitlessness of the situation, lifts his head.

“I don’t think there’s any guardian out there who can bring someone back to life,” Mika continues. “But then again, neither Suguru nor I know the limits to a guardian’s power if he or she has been alive long enough. Unfortunately most of us these days don’t last for very long after the incident with the previous owl—ah, it’s a long story, don’t worry about it—but we happen to be very well acquainted with someone very powerful. In fact, he’s Suguru’s best friend.”

Out of nowhere, Suguru violently chokes on air. “H-how could you insult me like that?” He wails in another 180 degree personality flip. “ _Me,_ best friends with that cat bastard? Give me a break!”

“There there,” Mika rolls her eyes in amusement. “Deny all you want, Suguru; you love that guy.”

“I COULD NEVER—”

“Who?” Tobio interrupts. “Who’s this ‘cat bastard’?” _And what can he do?_

Mika snickers. “His name is Tetsurou, and he’s the second oldest living guardian. He’s in this city too, actually, and he usually stays in his cat form.”

Her face becomes more serious as she removes her hand from Tobio’s head and chooses to grip him by the shoulders instead. “I’m not saying he can reverse death,” she warns. “But I _am_ saying that if there’s anyone who could potentially do anything for you, Tetsurou’s your best shot. He’s a wish granter, so even if he can’t change the past, maybe he can help you in a different way. You said you don't want your friend to be sad anymore, right? Who said there’s only one way to accomplish that?”

 _She’s right_ , Tobio realizes, an epiphany suddenly dawning on him. So what if he can’t do anything about Oikawa Tooru? He was never the one Tobio wanted to help in the first place—it’s _Iwaizumi._ Even if the past can’t be changed, that doesn’t mean Iwaizumi’s future has to be sad.

“You said he’s in Tokyo? Where?” He asks, already mentally plotting his next course of action in his head. Maybe, if the school this Tetsurou is at is close enough, Tobio might just have enough time to run there and still make it to the station on time. Granted, he doesn’t know how long he’s been talking to Suguru and Mika so he’ll probably have to wait, but he’ll be back in January anyway. Not all hope is lost after all.

Suguru just snorts. “C’mon kid, use your brain. I looked into your past—I _know_ you’ve already been to his place before, you just haven’t connected the dots yet.”

“I don’t know what you’re—” Tobio begins, only to freeze once it hits him.

Tetsurou turns into a cat. Using the same logic that led Tobio to Suguru and Mika the snakes…

“Nekoma,” he breathes.

Later, long after Suguru transported Tobio to the train station with a snap of his fingers, he turns to his partner and quietly says, “You checked his future, didn’t you?”

Mika hums, running her thumb over the numbers inked on her wrist. “Of course I did. Why else would I send him to Tetsurou?”

Suguru stuffs his hands into the pockets of his slacks. The matching black numbers on his ankle, hidden by the hem of his pants, burn. “So what did you see, Mika-chan?”

“Oh, nothing much,” she lets a smile slip onto her perfect face. “He has a beautiful life ahead of him. One of the lucky few to have all his dreams come true, can you believe it?”

“Yeah?” Suguru chuckles. “He seems like a stubborn brat, but a decent kid nonetheless. That’s good he has a good life then, right?”

Mika’s lips fall into a melancholic grimace. “That is, if only I hadn't told him about Tetsurou.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! Thank you for reading! :)


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